


In Dreams

by InMyEyes2014



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InMyEyes2014/pseuds/InMyEyes2014
Summary: Merry Christmas to Jen (doodlelolly0910) from your CSSS. Here is a bit of a dark story of a psychic Emma and her connection to a serial killer and the handsome Deputy Jones.





	1. Chapter 1

The night sky had just turned from that dusty blue color to pitch black as Emma Nolan sipped her hot cocoa and listened to her childhood friend Ruby describe the goings on in the small coastal town of Storybrooke, Maine. Emma had been gone from the scenic enclave for years, setting up residence in Boston and going into law enforcement like her father. However, her visits were a bit more frequent now that her parents had retired, bought a farm, and set about restoring the old place. That was when they weren’t traveling the world on her younger brother’s school breaks. There was a 12 year age difference between the siblings, which meant she really had to struggle to bond with the 16 year old.

“So…” Ruby drawled, ignoring the leering glances that her exposed legs seemed to garner from some of the men at the counter. “You in town for long? Can I get you a room here or maybe you’re staying at the farm?”

Emma shook her head at the offer of a room at the town’s one and only overnight establishment. Granny’s Diner was attached to her very own Bed & Breakfast, a quirky spot where Ruby had worked since she could see over the counter and her grandmother seemed determined to will to her only grandchild one day. Whenever Emma came into town, Ruby begged for details of life outside the town’s limits. “Dad just called and asked me to check the pipes at their farm. Seems there was some sort of leak. The plumber finished up today and I’m going to stay at the loft and leave in the morning. Work and all, you know?”

It was Ruby’s turn to nod. “Your dad was calling that place a money pit. I didn’t realize they still have the loft though.”

“For now.” Emma’s parents had announced their retirement on a Thursday in June and on Saturday were packing to leave. By Monday they had moved into the two bedroom loft and begun work on the farm. They’d only been officially living at the farm for a few weeks when the pipe in the main house busted and a neighbor alerted them to the problem while they were on a cruise down the east coast. The loft was still theirs, though barely furnished and functional. It was still more comfortable than the farm where the wiring was going to be replaced because every time the wind blew there were brown outs.

“You’ll be back next month for Thanksgiving, right? And then Christmas?” Ruby’s eyes danced as she queried her friend. The other tables were filled with hungry guests growing steadily angrier as they waited for their server to at least bring them their drinks. Even when Granny griped and grabbed the pitcher of water and an order pad herself, Ruby did not move from her leaned perch at Emma’s side. “Maybe we can…”

“I probably have to work,” Emma excused, her green eyes apologetic before they narrowed to a squint. Her hands left the warm sides of the mug of cocoa and with her fingertips rubbing circles on her temples. She hadn’t felt this in so long. Why now?

If she had opened her eyes, she would have been met with the concerned ones of her friend. It was hardly the first time she had experienced one of her headaches, though that was too soft a word for the searing pain of it. “Are you okay? Do you need an aspirin?”

Emma shook her head and with one hand reached blindly into her pocket for the $20 she knew she had in there. But Ruby pushed that away. “Your money’s no good here. Granny said so. Are you sure you don’t want anything? We’ve got a vacant room. I could get one of the guy’s to drive you back to the loft? Or the hospital? Seriously, Emma, you look green.”

“We’re talking about four blocks. I’m fine. But I should get out of here before it gets worse.”

Only a bit of fuss later, the blonde woman was behind the wheel of her Volkswagen Beetle, the lemony yellow color bright under the street lamp. Mustering up a bit of energy, she gave her best smile and wave to the owner of the diner, Ruby, and one of the cooks who were huddled in the doorway before she threw the car in reverse and righted herself enough to drive down the main street without too much hassle.

She was no stranger to these headaches. The first had hit her at 10 years old when she had seen someone break into the pawn shop in Storybrooke and nearly kill the owner over a few dollars in the register. The thing was, she had been in gym class at the time and nowhere near the shop. Her parents had rushed her to Storybrooke Hospital where Dr. Whale had diagnosed her with an over active imagination and a migraine. While Storybrooke was a small town, it had been hell when one of these spells hit. Her mind would become engrossed with that of the victim or the perpetrator and her body tensed until physical pain took over her thoughts and the visions faded away.

Few people understood them, thinking them just fleeting moments of pain that she played up for attention as a child and teen. While her family supported her, Emma had retreated and refused to let people in, as she was sure they wouldn’t get what it was like. And forget about dating. She’d had one relationship in her days. That had been with a guy named Neal, who had called her a freak when his own thoughts rang out in her head like they were her own. He’d also ridiculed her mundane life of work and home, a normalcy that she had thrived on even at a young age.

Slowing for a stoplight, Emma found felt the familiar tingle creeping up her neck again, her muscles tightening. Panic didn’t have a chance to set in before her vision began to blur. “Pull over, pull over,” she chanted quietly. Easing over to the side of the road, she managed put her car in park before she lost all conscious thought. 

He cut the back door screen slowly, careful to remain quiet. Squeezing through the opening, he eased his way into the kitchen, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the house. He looked around, searching the Formica counters; then he saw it – the wooden block of black handled knives. Moving silently across the white tiled floor, he went to the block and gently pulled out the large butcher knife. He examined it for a moment, found the blade slightly too dull.

He shrugged, then ran the tempered steel through the wet stone imbedded in the wood – once, twice, three times. It was a pity that people didn’t keep up their basic kitchen utensils these days, he thought, silently sighing. When he was done, he looked at the silver edge again and decided it was sharp enough. Slowly he walked down the hall, going unerringly to the last bedroom on the left. She had left the door ajar. Pushing the polished timber open with his latex gloved hand, he stood for a moment, watching her sleep before joining her in the bed.

Flipping over, her arm flung out and connected with his solid waist. Leisurely, her eyes flickered opened, blank for a moment, then filled with that panicked shock he had been waiting for, looking forward to. “Do as I say and I won’t hurt you,” he said. She began fighting him immediately. Her hands lashed out, her nails ready as weapons. Bucking up from under the black sheets, she began to flee. He grabbed her around the waist to pull her back, only to be elbowed in the nose. The blow stunned him long enough for her to jump off the bed and run for her door. Lunging toward her, he pulled her down to her thick carpet, pinning her under him.

“Stupid b*tch,” he snarled, “I said to listen.” She shook her head, opening her mouth to scream. Immediately he crammed his hand over her lips. Fury raced through him as the pain shook his thoughts from Emma’s mind.

A constant tapping on her window finally brought Emma back, her mind still partly caught in the horrific scene she’d witnessed. Staring out of her car, it took her eyes a moment to adjust and realize that a deputy was standing there, banging on the glass with a flashlight. Leaning over slightly, Emma slowly rolled down the barrier and stared at the officer.

“Ma’am,” he said sternly with a clipped accent, “you alright?”

Her head was beginning its vicious pounding again, her eyes beginning to ache with the pressure. “Yes, I’m sorry – I’m – I’m fine. I just have problems with headaches.”

The tall man raised his eyebrows, obviously doubting what she was saying. “Have you been drinking tonight?” he questioned.

“No, no I haven’t,” she murmured, “it’s just – I have a migraine and –“

The officer nodded, understanding. “My wife gets those. They sneak up on her, too. Why don’t I follow you, make sure you make it home safely.” He lowered the light mercifully and squinted at her as if he knew her. “I feel like rubbish for not recognizing ya sooner, Emma. It’s me, Will Scarlett.”

The man before her did sound like her high school friend who was always in trouble but still managed to maintain better grades than most of the class. But his hair was shorn much shorter and his face more angular than the chubby guy he had been back in the day. “Will?” she asked, remembering the constant teasing he got for having a literary name.

“It’s meself, alright,” he said happily, clipping the flashlight onto his belt. “Never pictured me as a man of the law, did ya?” His chest was thrust out boldly and proudly.

“Well,” Emma said with a grimace. “No, I didn’t. My dad did say that I’d be surprised at some of the changes at the station.” Emma’s father had been the law when she was growing up in Storybrooke, the lone sheriff with a single deputy. The town and department had grown since then.

“It’s alright. I was the dodgy sort back in school, probably expected to see me behind the bars rather than...” He tilted his head apologetically. “I’m blathering on and ya look wonky enough to fall out of the car. I’ll tell Anastasia I saw ya. She’ll be chuffed about an old friend being about. Let’s get ya home safe though.”  

“That – yes, that would be nice,” Emma said softly, her brain being squeezed by the pressure inside her head. She wasn’t sure how she was going to drive, but she knew that she had now – especially now that her old friend turned deputy had appointed himself her white knight. It certainly wouldn’t do to have him take her to the hospital. Explaining the after affects of her unexpected vision wasn’t something she really wanted to do. Not now, not ever again. 

She drove slowly, easing through the green lights and down the winding back road. Finally, the three story brick building where her parents kept their loft on the top level came into view. Climbing out of her car carefully, she turned to wave at the cruiser behind her and give him a wane smile. “Go away, please,” she begged behind gritted teeth. The car finally turned around, heading back to town. Letting her shoulders sag, Emma drug herself up the few steps inside the building, only to nearly collapse. She felt her body shutting down, knew she only had a moment to get inside. Looking up, she stared at the aged stain glass window, seeing it through her tunneled vision, the vise behind her eyes tightening. Silently she willed herself to pull up on the smooth wood of the banister. She had to do this, had to get inside before she was lost. Closing her eyes, she reached up, pushed her body to standing, ignoring the sweat that rolled down her face despite the cool temperature of autumn. Managing to climb the stairs with some effort, Emma followed the wall to the door, and after a few tries stuck her key in the lock and turned the doorknob. Her knees wobbled, her sight fading. She made it to the other side of the door just before her legs gave way, managing to kick the door shut with her right foot as the pain reached a fevered pitch. Then everything went black. 

~CS~

Killian Jones stood in the doorway, watching as the state’s CSI unit built a tent around the satin-sheeted bed. He hadn’t necessarily liked the statuesque divorcee that everyone referred to as Cruella, but he never would have wished this kind of death for her. The poor woman had been tortured, her body abused in ways no one should be subjected to. The deep crimson pool of her blood had soaked into the beige carpet, the metallic smell of the congealed liquid hanging in the air. Cruella had lost most of her blood on this spot, Killian thought objectively. With the way they found the body, and the tangle of black sheets on the bed, he decided that she must have tried to get away. She hadn’t fought hard enough.

“This doesn’t look good,” the tall Irishman behind him said.

Without turning, Killian ran his hand across the back of his neck and said, “That’s an understatement, Graham.” He heard the sheriff grunt, the deep sound carrying through the almost empty room.

“Do they think they’ll get anything from the super glue analysis?” Graham asked, shifting to stand on his right foot.

“They weren’t sure,” Killian replied, becoming absorbed in the forensic team’s work again. Finding any prints, any hair, any skin, any fibers at all was going to be next to impossible – if it happened at all. If the killer had followed his modus operandi, there wouldn’t be anything to point them in any kind of direction. The only exception to the m.o. was where the woman had been found. Rather than stuffed in some out of the way place, the woman was splayed on the floor with her sedated dogs sleeping soundly at her side.

Killian had seen a lot working in Storybrooke, most of it solvable and usually involving the victim’s family. This, though, was something altogether different. Sick, depraved, obsessed – the list could go on. The women of Storybrooke were terrified, gun sales over the past few weeks skyrocketing, self-defense courses at the Y now jam-packed. And, of course, there were the inevitable reports and false leads. The Storybrooke Stalker, as the media had dubbed him, was said to be everyone from the mayor’s husband to Killian’s own father, who himself had been dead for years. It certainly didn’t make his job any easier to chase down dead end streets and bring in innocent people for interrogation. Heaving a sigh, Killian turned from the crime scene and stared at his supervisor. “Number three,” he stated, “and still, nothing.”

Graham nodded his head, his eyes wandering the bedroom behind the young Deputy. “And you expected him to leave something this time?” he asked.

Killian’s own accent grew thicker as he scanned the scene again. “Well, it’s obvious he lost control of the situation at some point. Maybe I’m just hoping that she through him off his usual course of action just enough that he slipped.”

“Yeah, and maybe I’ll go home and find Giselle waiting for me with a plate of homemade brownies,” Graham mumbled. “Without Tom Brady of course.”

Killian let out a soft guffaw, shaking his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I think we may have something,” one of the investigators said, rising from the floor with a hair caught in a pair of tweezers.

Killian spun back, his eyes wide and his heart pumping. “Bloody hell, tell Giselle I said hello,” he commented softly, moving to inspect the piece of evidence. 

~CS~

Emma stood under the hot shower, her body sagging, her mind still foggy. She had been in and out of consciousness for the past twenty-four hours, bits and pieces of her vision creeping in whenever she was able to open her eyes. She remembered waking once, stumbling into the bathroom to relieve her over filled bladder. When she turned to leave, she had caught a glimpse of something in the mirror, something shadowed that lingered just over her shoulder. Too drained to try to decipher what the image meant, Emma had taken three faltering steps toward the downstairs bed, then had simply collapsed on the thick reading chair beside it. That’s where she had woken up an hour ago, her neck stiff and her whole system exhausted.

Thank goodness it was the weekend, she thought, otherwise she’d have to make up an excuse and use one of her few sick days at work. As the last of the soap lather slid off her skin, Emma watched the sudsy water circle down the drain and disappear. Damn it, she had thought she wouldn’t have to go through this again. After her last case, after its disastrous end, the visions had simply ceased. Oh, she still picked up on muffled conversations in her head, still felt and heard the emotional trauma of the people around her. But that was controllable, bearable because she knew there could be worse. For a year now she’d been free. No longer. Now she had not only the scene of a beautiful young woman being brutalized, but the feeling of gratification that the murderer derived from his wanton and evil acts. Now the question was what she was going to do with the information she had. And how was she going to explain how she got it? 

~CS~

Killian walked through the squad room, the smell of burned coffee and stale cigarettes clinging to the air around him. Stopping at the offending glass pot, he poured himself a cup of what could loosely be termed coffee and began pouring sugar in. It might taste like crap, he thought, but the caffeine would give him the buzz he needed to keep going. Killian had been out to the crime scene again this morning, going through the rooms and acting out what happened in his mind. The analysis on the hair had been both informative and frustrating. It had been synthetic. Interesting, considering the woman didn’t own a wig. Of course, it could have been brought in by any of the several men she was having affairs with. He and Will were having to pursue that line of questioning with careful tact. So far, they had found out nothing. Gulping the lukewarm liquid, Killian grimaced at the bitter taste and turned to head to Sheriff Humbert’s office.

As he approached the door, he saw someone else sitting across from Graham, her back to him. Her hair was pulled up into an elaborate twist, it’s golden color a contrast against her red leather jacket. She sat with her back perfectly straight, the tension in her muscles obvious even from this distance. Intending to signal the other man then move on, Killian raised his hand to give a quick wave. The sheriff caught his eyes and swiftly waved him inside, his gaze swinging back to the female in front of him. Killian quietly entered the room, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it. “So, you’re saying you know what happened?” Graham asked, his voice deceivingly easy.

“I know you don’t believe me, sheriff,” the woman said in a surprisingly sweet tone, “I didn’t expect you to.”

Graham stared at her for a moment, then turned his gaze to the young man. “Ms. Nolan, this is Deputy Jones. He’s the lead investigator on these crimes and working with the state.” She stood, twisting her body around to look at him. And his breath actually caught in his lungs. She was magnificent. Her green eyes assessed him, her delicate face was slightly flushed, her body lovingly outlined in that ridiculously soft sweater under the jacket while her worn jeans cupped her long legs perfectly.

“Deputy Jones,” she said, addressing him.

“Uh, yes. Ms. Nolan, nice to meet you,” he managed.  Emma hoped he wouldn’t offer his hand; she didn’t know if she would be able to deal with his thoughts just now. She needed all of her faculties to explain herself.

“Ms. Nolan was just telling me that she knows what happened Friday night – that she had a vision of it.” Graham’s comment had an immediate effect on Deputy Jones; he stared at her with piercing blue eyes gone suddenly suspicious, immediately pulling himself back from her both physically and mentally.

“She does?” he asked, moving to sit in the chair beside her, his gaze never leaving her face. Emma eased back down into the seat she had been occupying.

“As I was telling Sheriff Humbert ,” she said, keeping her voice carefully controlled, “I have visions – psychic flashes of traumatic events. I was driving my parents’ loft on Friday night when I had one of the last Stalker murder.” She turned her face back to the sheriff. “I’m thinking you know my father, at least by name. David Nolan? He was sheriff here when I was growing up.”

The room around her was silent, the ticking of the wall clock the only sound. “What exactly did you – um – see?” the deputy asked. Emma didn’t look at the handsome man, keeping her gaze on a spot just above the sheriff’s head.

“She left the back door unlocked,” Emma began, “she had a habit of forgetting it, especially after her cleaning lady had been there. He cut through the screen with a knife of his own, but he didn’t kill her with it. He chose to use one of hers – to make it more personal, more ritualistic. It wasn’t sharp enough, so he had to use the built-in wet stone. He – he- crawled into bed with her, watched her, and when she realized he was there, she tried to get away. She hit him once, made it to the door before he managed to grab her.” She continued with the grisly details. “I don’t know what he looks like, I don’t have a name. I can only tell you that he was only about two or so inches taller than the last victim, and his voice was raw, like a chronic smoker. And his head itched. I’m not sure why, but it did. That’s all I can tell you.”

She stood then, ready to leave, fighting the urge to simply slam out the door and run all the way to her car. She could feel a vicious headache starting behind her eyes. “As I said before, I don’t expect you to believe what I’ve just said was all from a vision. I even expect to become your number one suspect now.”

Digging through her purse, Emma pulled out a dog-eared card, the thick white paper pliant with age. “Take this,” she said, shoving the card out at Graham. “This is the number to my father, who, if you do your due diligence, you will realize was the sheriff here before you came along. I believe you had lunch with him after he moved back a few months ago. I suggest you start with him when you begin your investigation of the crazy lady with the psychic ability.”

When the sheriff slid the card out of her hand, Emma turned on her heel and strode out the door and through the bullpen. She had thought she was out of this kind of work, had prayed and thanked God every night that she was finally living an average life, without fear of what she might see any given day. And God had decided to take her down off of the shelf He had put her on and begin playing hard and fast with her life again.  Killian watched the stunning woman go, her words echoing in his head.

“What do you think?” Graham asked, his attention on Ms. Nolan’s retreating back.

“I think she knows too much,” Killian answered, slowly turning back to look at his superior.

“So you don’t believe what she said – that she has visions?” the sheriff asked, catching his best Deputys gaze. Graham had been reluctant to believe in anything psychic, had instead relied on his common sense and suspicious nature to answer his questions.

“I think it’s bollocks,” the deputy stated.

“Then how do you explain the story she just told?” Graham asked, “How is it she knows so much about the crime scene? Most of what she said we’ve kept under wraps.”

Killian shrugged, his mind unmoved. “I think she has a boyfriend who took her along for one of his killings, that’s what I think,” he said, slumping down and crossing his arms over his chest. “I think she was there, and I think she’s scared to tell us the truth – because then she’ll be considered an accessory to murder.”

The Sheriff nodded his head slowly, looking down at the card in his hand. “Then you agree we need to investigate her,” Graham commented, “We need to find out as much as we can about Emma Nolan and her life.” Killian didn’t say anything, just let his silence be his answer. “You can start with this,” the Graham said, holding out the card to Killian. “You and Will need to tail her.”

“Aye, we need to find out where she works –“

“No need,” Graham interrupted, “Ms. Nolan already divulged that information. She works for a bond company in Boston. She was in town to see about her parents’ property while they are vacation.  She drives a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, older model, license tag number IAJ-513.”

Killian shook his head, an incredulous smile covering his haggard face. “Let me guess,” he said, “she gave you her address and phone number, too.” Sheriff Humbert nodded, his eyes full of the same ironic amusement that Killian was feeling. “I’ll grab Will and we’ll get started right now. As long as Anastasia doesn’t decide to go into labor.” 

~CS~

“But Will, our Lamaze class is tonight,” Anastasia said, following her husband as he attempted to get dressed.

“I know it is, and I’m sorry – but ya know I have to do this,” Will replied, buttoning up his brown shirt. “We have a serial killer on the loose and this woman is our only lead.”

“Yeah, I know,” the petite blonde answered dejectedly, rubbing her distended belly. “I just needed to say it – it makes me feel better to whine a little.”

Will reached out, stroking her soft cheek as he gave her a smile. “That’s one thing I’ve always loved about ya – you understand how important my job is to me.”

Anastasia gave an inelegant snort, twisting her lips into a sneering grin. “Important, hell, it’s more like your life blood. But,” she continued with a martyred sigh, “I am a supportive and loving wife – so I’ll just go to the class with Zelena and her sister, hope, I don’t start having contractions.”

It was Will’s turn to laugh as he rested a hand on her rounded stomach. “You’ve got a month and a half to go; if you go into labor now they’ll stop it.”

Anastasia leaned up, placing a soft kiss on her husband’s waiting lips. “I guess I’m just anxious to meet our son – or daughter,” she said.

“You never could stand not knowing,” Will commented, returning her gentle peck and turning to strap his gun holster on.

“Robin and Regina said they’d come by tomorrow and help me with the nursery,” she told him, plopping down on the bed beside him.

“Aye, that old wallpaper is getting pretty ratty,” Will said, lacing his shoes. But knowing Regina, it’s likely to be black and white. Don’t let her create something to scare the bGraham. No apples, either. She has a weird thing about them.”

“We’re going to mix the white, blue and pink for a nice neutral lavender.”

“Lavender?” the man asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Lavender,” his wife stated with conviction. “If you don’t like it, I don’t care. I’m the pregnant one here. The day you walk around with a twelve pound bowling ball in your stomach I’ll let you redecorate.”

Will shook his head, standing up from the edge of the bed and gazing down at his glowing wife. “You love being pregnant and you know it. I’ve never seen you happier in your life – except our wedding day.”

Anastasia tried to hide her smile and failed miserably. “William Scarlett, that is beside the point. I’m just ready to meet our baby – and have our family.”

He grinned at her then, cradling her face in his hands. “Soon, very soon.” Leaning down, he tenderly kissed her lips, then rested his forehead against hers. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too, Will. Promise me you’ll be careful,” she said softly.

“Awww, but I was thinkin’ to run into the line of flying bullets,” he said sarcastically, leaning back and tweaking her nose.

“I’m serious,” she replied, holding her husband’s laughing gaze.

“Ya know I will be,” he swore, “After all, I’m a proper family man now.” 

~CS~

“You know that I can take care of myself,” Emma said, throwing her jacket over the back of the one chair at the kitchen counter. “I told them what I knew and said to call you to verify my abilities.”

The headache that had been hounding her seemed to have subsided, though she was certain that it was still brewing under the surface. It might have been a while since she had experienced one of these things, but she knew the drill.”

“No, no, no,” she repeated, propping her chin in her hand. “I’m fine. Don’t cut your trip short. I’m going to see if this Graham guy and his deputies want my help. Otherwise, I’m hightailing it back to Boston. You just answer the phone if they call, okay?”

~CS~

Killian sat in the car beside Will, his knees resting against the steering wheel. “Sorry we pulled this duty,” he told his partner, “I know Ana’s missing you at her class.”

Will nodded his head, his eyes still on the little building in front of them. “She’s got friends going with her,” he answered dully, “I only wish I was a fly on the wall to watch them.” Exaggerating his yawn, he settled deeper into the passenger seat. “Want to tell me why Emma’s a bloody suspect? I know the lass and she’s a firecracker for sure, but not a ruddy murderer.”

Killian chuckled and rubbed his tired face, his eyes sore from the bright sunset. “I’m sure the Emma you remember is a lovely lass. But she knew way too much to be as innocent as you claim, mate.”

“I know ya got your suspicions, but I’d be willing to bet that Emma’s telling the truth. There were rumors round school, ya know. People said she could read people’s minds and stuff. Real creepy, ya know. But do the thing.” He waved his hand in front of them. “But let me tell ya, this surveillance is a waste.”

Killian grunted his agreement just as a little Honda, rusted with time, a bright sign on the top reading “Uncle Vito’s”, pulled up behind them. “Bloody hell? –“ Killian began, having seen the car pull in a little too close. A tall, scrawny teenage boy emerged, two large square boxes in one hand, a white plastic bag in the other. He loped toward them, stopping at Killian’s window to hold up his packages. The deputy rolled down the glass partition, staring at the delivery boy with suspicion.

“Hey, man, are you Deputy Jones or Scarlett?” he asked in a squeaky voice, reading off the paper on the smaller of the two boxes.

“Jones,” Killian answered, waiting for some kind of explanation.

“Yeah, great, well, then, I was told to deliver these to you.” Passing the larger of the boxes and then the bag through the open window, the delivery boy gave them a quick, one swipe wave, then headed toward the building where Emma stood waiting at the door to the sidewalk.

Will cautiously opened the pizza box Killian had handed him, the pungent and heady smell of tomato sauce and spices filling the air. “A large extra cheese,” Will observed, then pulled open the noisy bag. “Two sodas. There’s a note in here, too,” he continued, “‘Thought you guys might be hungry by now. Hope you like pizza. Sorry, no dessert. Emma.’ Well isn’t that thoughtful of her and not at all like a murderer.”

Killian tried not to laugh and ignore his rumbling stomach. He watched as the blonde woman opened her door, taking a pizza from the teenager herself. She handed him a fist full of cash, smiling sweetly at the befuddled kid. As the delivery boy bounded off her porch, the striking woman looked straight at Killian, her grin still in place, raised one of her expressive eyebrows, and waved. Damn, Killian thought, he hated that he was beginning to really like her.


	2. Chapter 2

They had followed her now for three days – three days of excruciating monotony. She was out of the house by 7:20 a.m., drove into town to Granny’s, was at the loft by a quarter of eight with a to go bag and cup in hand. Lunch was at 12:30 p.m., back to the loft or the farm by 1:30. Her phone calls that they had overheard were simple, checking in at work and canceling an appointment for later that day. No, there had been an exception – she’d stopped at the grocery store yesterday for 30 minutes and come back out with a buggy full of bags. And had stopped on the way to her car to hand them a box full of powder sugar donuts, a carton of orange juice, and some paper cups. “For tomorrow morning,” she’d said.

Shaking his head, he popped another mini-donut in his mouth. He’d never met a more cooperative murder suspect – or a more boring person. How could she possibly live like this, he wondered. Every day it was the same thing, over and over again. Killian wondered if the rest of the week would be as bad. He could just see it now. They’d follow her to the store for groceries, the dry cleaners for her clothes, the bank for a deposit. Then she’d spend her Saturday cleaning the house and raking the bright autumn leaves from the farm. She might go out to rent a movie and pick up Chinese.

Chugging a glass of the orange juice she’d given them, Killian stopped for a moment to consider Emma as a person – not just a lead. No one could possibly be so mundane unless they did it on purpose. Of course, if she did have these “visions” she claimed to, her lack of spontaneity made perfect sense. Order out of chaos, he thought. But wouldn’t that take the luster out of living? Then he remembered her impromptu pizza delivery, the breakfast food drop-off, and the mischievous look in those eyes of hers when she’d done both. No, Emma was definitely not a boring person by nature – but by planning.

Killian was becoming more and more intrigued, and that wasn’t good. Thankfully he’d be leaving the surveillance to will for a while when he had the long awaited call with Emma’s father and a meeting with her boss in Boston. He had a flight to Boston that evening and a meeting with someone named Jacob the next morning. Hopefully he’d get some answers to his ever-growing list of questions about the mysterious blonde. 

~CS~ From the desk she had set up by the window of the loft, Emma sat plugging numbers into her laptop as she tried to figure out the bank numbers on a skip she was trying to trace long distance. She began singing along with the radio under her breath, her fingers speeding up as her mind began to wander. Killian and Will had been following her for three days now – they had to be bored out of their minds. At least, Killian had to be, as Will looked more apologetic and annoyed than anything. Thinking of Killian, of his bright blue eyes, of the way he’d looked on the two occasions she’d delivered food to his car, she chuckled. He was undeniably handsome, that much was true. But he also had a curious nature. Killian Jones was the kind of person who got a question, broke it down to its basic components, then took those components apart – until he finally got an answer. The inherent tenacity she sensed in him unnerved her.

Jacob had called her earlier, telling her - warning her, really - that he had a meeting with Deputy Jones tomorrow morning. Her old friend and boss had been puzzled, had wanted to know what was going on. Emma had only told him that she’d seen something, that her visions were starting again. The silence he had given her spoke volumes; he wasn’t sure whether to be sorry for her or not. It was hard, she knew, for Jacob to be truly objective, just as it was for her. On one hand, her psychic abilities drained her, pulled everything out of her, forced her to see and hear things she’d rather not know about. On the other side, she had a gift that helped the dead achieve justice, brought closure to the people involved, and, on happier occasions, reunited families. It was both a blessing and a curse. The blessing being the times she helped before it was too late, the curse being what had happened a little over a year ago. When she wasn’t able to make people listen, when she didn’t get to the missing or the hurt in time - Shaking her head, Emma snapped her attention back to her repetitious number crunching. Her past was something she didn’t want to think about right now. Actually, she admitted, it was something she didn’t want to think about ever again. 

~CS~

Killian might not have seen Emma up close more than a few times, but talking via Skype with her father was disconcerting. There was a similarity to them that was uncanny, even more so when Emma’s mother briefly appeared and the vague differences between father and daughter were explained. Though he had interviewed hundreds of witnesses and suspects in his career, he felt nervous talking to the former sheriff and discussing the perplexing nature of the man’s daughter with him. Not to mention the man seemed determined to return home despite his daughter’s protests not to yet. It had taken a while before they were even in position to use Skype to talk.

He’d offered very little negative information, clearly proud of his daughter and wary of anyone who doubted the woman. Killian gleaned that this talent of Emma’s had appeared rather suddenly and had been tested time and again.

“She’s not one to mess with, Deputy Jones,” the older man said.

“Killian, please. And I certainly can see that Emma is an intelligent lass with a stubborn streak.” The smile he shared through the screen was not returned.

“I know your name, Deputy Jones. I suggest you conclude your investigation of my daughter and move on to more pressing matters. Don’t you have a killer to apprehend?”

Jacob was at least a bit more polite, if not completely reserved. He handed the younger deputy a stack of files. Case reports, news clippings, and even a psychological profile on Emma done at the university nearby. He told him to read them on the plane back to Storybrooke where he should beg for her assistance on the case.

“Yes, I’m aware that Emma has these visions. She’s not really trying to bring them on. They just come to her. She’ll tune in on something or whatever and then…Well, she’s reunited a lot of families and brought closure to those who need it. Probably not a unit in the Northeast that hasn’t used her at least once, most of them more than that. She’s got a gift. Or she did. It’s been quite a while since it has hit her so hard.”

“So I hear,” Killian answered. “I have taken enough of your time.”I really appreciate you taking the time to see me. I’m sure this will help out.” He stood to leave, sticking out his hand for the obligatory handshake.

The older man stood, too, reaching out and accepting the gesture. “Deputy Jones,” he said, staring hard into his ice blue eyes, “you can trust her. Believe me, if Emma says she’s having visions again, then she is. She wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

Killian simply nodded, dropping the other man’s grasp. Turning, he strode out of the station, the strangest feeling of inevitability washing over him. He was afraid that he was going to have to work with the alluring woman, whether he wanted to or not. Unfortunately, his libido was beginning to want to, while his head was still screaming no.

~CS~

“Yes, Anastasia, I had lunch. Actually, the person we’re tailing brought out a tuna sandwich for me.” Will smiled to himself, remembering Emma sympathetic look when she’d delivered the sandwich, along with a large caffeinated soda and bag of chips.  

“Your suspect brought you food and you ate it?!” his wife asked incredulously.

“Well, technically she’s not a suspect – she’s a lead,” he elaborated, leaning back in the car seat and taking a large gulp of his drink. “You know her. Emma. We all went to school together. Remember?”

“Barely, she’s basically a stranger. Suspect, lead, whatever. You don’t take food from strangers, didn’t you learn that when you were a child?” Her rising voice carried through the cell phone, her worried tone causing Will a little guilt.

“Darling, it’s hard to explain. She’s already fed us before –“

“What?!” “and we were fine.” There was a moment of silence, then Anastasia said suspiciously, “Us? Did Killian let you eat food from a murder suspect?” Will rolled his eyes, praying his wife’s pregnancy hormones wouldn’t get any worse. “She’s a lead, Anastasia, a LEAD. If she were a suspect we certainly wouldn’t have accepted her offer. Now, what are you doing tonight?”

Anastasia sighed, knowing she had just been effectively cut off from her rant. “Well,” she answered, “Regina said she’d come by since Robin has something at the school with Roland. She was talking about a some lasagne and a movie.”

“Sounds like heaven,” Will commented dryly, smiling to himself. His wife, so independent and outspoken normally, had become a true homebody who constantly craved human contact and interaction. She wasn’t going to believe him in a few months when she would, naturally, ask him just how bad she’d been in the last trimester of her pregnancy.

“Will, how much longer are you going to be following this woman?” Anastasia asked, her voice slightly strained. She was worried about him, knew only that the female he and Killian were tailing was somehow linked to the Storybrooke Stalker. She had been with Will since the fall of their senior year of high school and couldn’t imagine her life without him. It terrified her to walk him to the door every day, knowing that he might not come back. And when he was out all night, like he would be tonight, Anastasia rarely slept. She would probably be waiting on the couch for him when he came home in the early morning, after another officer finally relieved him.

“Killian’s on his way back,” Will replied, interrupting her thoughts.

“And you’ll decide what to do about this woman then?” she questioned.

“We should have enough facts to choose a plan of attack,” he said. Then, in a more soothing tone, “Darling, why don’t you go rest? I know you’re exhausted, and Regina will keep you up as late as she possibly can.” He pretended not to know that his wife actually waited up for him, knew that if she got even the smallest bit of comfort from it he wouldn’t chastise her for it.

“Okay, I’ll go,” Anastasia answered. “I love you, Will.”

“Love you, too. I’ll see you in a few hours.” ~CS~

Emma sat in her sun filled kitchen slowly eating her bowl of Captain Crunch. She knew it wasn’t good for her, knew she’d have to pay with ten more minutes on the treadmill or bicycle, but it was worth it. She needed the comfort only sugar could bring. Giving a dejected sigh, she dug into the white Corelle dish for another spoonful. Why was it back? She’d been asking herself that since it had begun, wondered why her brain had decided it was time to torture her again. Emma couldn’t believe that she had actually begun to fool herself into believing she might be able to live normally. She’d thought about running back to Boston, but she knew the visions would start again even from that distance. There was little point of trying to pretend they wouldn’t. She could only hope that Sheriff Humbert and his deputies would listen to her. Jacob’s last call had indicated Killian might be changing his mind, while her father had placed two more calls to Graham to pave the way.

If she was calculating correctly, they’d be more open to talk to her within the day. It always took people a little time before they trusted her. She should know. She had a hard time trusting others too.

Her mother had started up on a campaign again to get her to move to Storybrooke. A quiet country life, her mother had said over Skype earlier. And while her father was wanting to hop off their cruise at the next port (something Emma was protesting), her mother was more interested in finding out if she found Killian Jones attractive. Apparently, her mother saw these visions as a way to meet a man, Emma though wryly. Emma didn’t bother to tell her mother that she did think of him as handsome if not a bit annoying with his swagger and demeanor. It wasn’t as though she would do anything about it. Hardly a blushing virgin, she’d been received more than a few date offers from men in Boston. Normalcy had been something she craved. But a relationship with a man – that was impossible now. She’d tried before, had dated and tried for something akin to a regular social life. But whenever she’d kissed them, whenever it had become intimate, she simply hadn’t been able to stop the flow of their feelings and thoughts.

“Am I gonna get lucky?” “She is so beautiful.” “Boy, I can’t believe the Ice Princess is melting.” “She taste like candy.” “Wow, I hope she doesn’t expect me to call her tomorrow.” “She’d better put out, after what I paid for our date.”

The thoughts were sometimes mean, sometimes sweet, but always too much for her to handle. The feelings were even worse. They were always painful, whether good or bad, because of the intensity. Of course, she hadn’t picked up on any true random thoughts or emotions, not this time. But then, she had control of that part, had known it had become weaker after her mind had blocked itself a year ago. But she wasn’t willing to put it to the test. Swirling her cereal thoughtfully, she was wondering what to take out to Will and when Killian might return when the hair on the back of her neck began to stand up. The creeping feeling began at the base of her neck, the tingling edging its way up. It wasn’t as strong, didn’t have the same feel as last time – but it was there. Then there was a flash, a sudden blare of emotion and a single word. “Her.” The power was building again, the anticipation was like acid in Emma’s mouth. The pounding at her temples was ignored for now. She squinted, holding her head in her hands, trying to see where he was, whom he was stalking for the next kill. The knock on her door interrupted her, breaking her concentration and the connection abruptly Killian rubbed his tired eyes and stared at the door in front of him. He had come straight from the airport, his mind still buzzing. He had relieved Will from staking out her home, then had parked his own beat up cruiser in her driveway. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to say to Emma Nolan. He had never been much good at apologies, had rarely had to give one. Now, here he stood, his foot in his mouth, with proof in the backseat of his car that what she had said was true. Well, procrastinating certainly wasn’t going to make the situation any easier.

Killian raised his hand, knocked briskly, shoved his hands in his pockets and waited. He was beginning to wonder if she’d slipped down the fire escape when she finally opened up. What he saw made him grab her shoulders and push her back inside.

~CS~

Emma held her head, the hall light from the stairwell assaulting her eyes and bringing the migraine to the forefront. Gasping at the pain, she didn’t actually see who was standing in her doorway, and right now, she didn’t really care. Whoever it was put strong hands on her arms and walked her back inside, slamming the door behind them. “Ms. Nolan – Emma, are you alright?”

Oh, great, she thought, just what I need. Deputy Skeptical. “I just – I need to sit down,” she managed, feeling blindly for the wicker loveseat that her father said felt like sitting on a stack of lumber.  Killian moved her quickly to the pink and yellow colored cushions, easing them both down and onto the relative softness. When she’d answered to door, her face had been shockingly white, her eyes brimming with pain. She had scared the hell out of him looking like that. “Are you sick?” he asked, worry beginning to claw at him. Why he was so concerned, he didn’t know, and didn’t bother to question.

“Yes – no, not really. It was him. He’s found someone else,” she whispered, her body sliding down on the loveseat and slowly curling into a fetal position. Killian’s mind drew a blank for a moment, his brain trying to understand what she’d said. “Please, could you close the blinds,” she requested, picking up a peach throw pillow and covering her head.

 He complied swiftly, standing and closing the blinds on the long window across from them. He stayed on his feet, his eyes adjusting to the relative dark. After a moment, he moved back to her, squatting down beside her prone body. “The killer?” he asked, “He’s murdered someone else?”

 “No,” came the muffled reply, “not yet. He’s picked her. I was trying to see any details I could when you knocked.”

 Killian wasn’t sure whether to curse himself or not, as Emma was in obvious pain just from this guy’s thoughts. What would have happened, what would she be going through right now, if he hadn’t stopped her? But if he hadn’t come by, could she have possibly seen where he was, found out who the next victim would be? Shaking his head to clear it, he placed a comforting hand on her arm, feeling completely helpless. “Is there anything I can do, love?” he asked her, “Is there anything you need?” 

Emma tried not to laugh at the question. “An aspirin the size of Toledo?” she said. His only response was to give her elbow a squeeze. It was always like this with people who didn’t believe her. They would stay unconvinced until they saw her in this condition, then they’d be filled with incredible guilt. “Look, deputy,” she said from under her cocoon, “there’s not a blessed thing you can do. Just go home and get a shower – no offense, but you smell.” She heard him snort, knew he was probably rolling his eyes.

“I’m new to this,” he answered, “but even as a newbie I know better than to leave you like this.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’ve done this on my own my whole life.”  Her statement, so matter-of-fact, cut through his heart in a strange, deep way. The idea of anyone having to see the horrors he knew she had, the thought that she had had to go through this pain and have done it with little to no help, bothered him more than he cared for. She was the stubborn one, his mind reasoned, she was the one who didn’t let anyone in. Jacob and her father had said so basically, and, from what Killian had read, the other men hadn’t lied. But then, how could she possibly share this with anyone else, he wondered quietly. After all, unless you could crawl into her mind you couldn’t even have an inkling of what she obviously went through.

He stared at her for a moment before finally making up his mind. Gently, he scooped her up, cradling her limp body against his. He headed past the kitchen to his left, toward where a slightly yellowed screen separated the living area from the bedroom. The bed, a metal frame with a mattress that at least looked more comfortable than the wicker furniture. He barely took in the exposed brick and concrete that melded with weathered wood, didn’t register the absence of photos or paintings, didn’t really pay attention to the sparse furnishings. Carefully, he placed the dazed woman on her unmade bed, wrapping her in the thick white comforter.

 “Let me know if you need anything else,” he told her quietly, turning to go.

 “Wait,” she whispered, her voice dry, “Medicine. There’s some in my bag on the counter in the kitchen. Imitrex. And something with caffeine.” Killian said nothing else, just looked down at her closed eyes for a second then went to her kitchen. He didn’t want to think about how she managed to do this on her own. Could barely stand to picture her

passing out wherever she fell because she wasn’t able to move. Wrestling with the childproof lid, Killian cursed long and fluently under his breath.

“Damn stubborn woman”, he muttered, “doing this to me. Making me worry when I don’t have a right to. She should have a boyfriend, a husband, someone to take care of her.” But the image of Emma being carried to her bedroom by another man rankled, the picture somehow more than unpleasant. Searching the bag, he finally found her glasses. They were thick, durable but fragile, he thought, with bright colors melded into them. The thought that they somehow reminded him of the stunning woman in the other room ran quickly through his mind – and was just as quickly discarded. He was exhausted, he decided, and his brain wasn’t working quite right. That was why these odd, random thoughts were running through his head. There couldn’t be any other reason. 

A bit later, Emma stumbled out of bed, wavering toward the bathroom. Her bladder was the size of watermelon and was begging to be relieved. After finishing in the bathroom, she opened the door and simply stood there, trying to recall exactly what had happened. She was having breakfast, she remembered. Captain Crunch. Looking down, she found she was still in her white cotton sleep shirt and pale green terry cloth robe. But it was dark outside, she noted, into the bedroom area. She was missing at least twelve hours somewhere. She needed coffee, needed to get her head back together. A vague image of a dark shadow at her front door came to her, followed quickly by the realization that she’d connected to the Storybrooke Stalker again. Damn! She hated when that happened – connection, followed by a fierce migraine, then, after finally waking, a brief period of blessed amnesia. But when the memory returned, it was just as cruel as when she’d first had it. Luckily, she still didn’t have total recall of what had happened, not yet at least. Shaking her head, she cringed at the feeling of her swollen and bruised brain. Coffee, she decided again. She hadn’t bought much to eat while she was staying there but there was coffee and a few of her favorite things. Staggering toward the kitchen, she pulled her robe back up onto her shoulder and turned into her open kitchen, only to see Deputy Jones standing, his back to her, pouring water into her mother’s ancient Mr. Coffee. He sure looked nice in that long sleeved black t-shirt and those old jeans, she thought before she could stop herself. Hold it, Emma, she mentally reprimanded. Just remember it’s okay to admire, but getting really attached is dangerous for everyone involved. So she chose to stand in the archway, her eyes roaming his backside and broad shoulders, and appreciate the man at her counter. Then it all came pouring back, the memories sharp in her mind as they cut through the fog that still lingered. 

Killian had heard her moving around, knew she’d probably head to the bathroom first. Emma had been out for eleven and a half hours now, and he had begun to wonder if he should call a doctor when she finally emerged. If she was anything like him, he thought, she’d want a strong cup of coffee to help her get going. Spotting the beige coffee maker, Killian began searching the cabinets for the coffee and the filters. He found them in the cabinet right above the Mr. Coffee – very efficient, just like the rest of her sparse belongings in the loft. She had not packed much and the groceries she bought were limited yet organized. Most of the nick-knacks or antique pieces that he knew her mother appreciated were boxed and moved to the farm, he was sure. But he doubted that Emma had those items in her Boston home either. No, Emma was a more practical soul, whether by birth or design, and Killian found it alarmingly appealing.

He heard her running the water in the bathroom and started filling the filter with the strong smelling grounds. Hell, he thought, she didn’t even have the flowery smelling soap in her bathroom that all the females of his acquaintance seemed to have. He’d worried about it earlier when he’d gone to take a shower, wondered if he’d spend the rest of the day smelling like strawberries and cream or blueberry and mango. To his surprise, he’d only found a neatly stacked pile of unopened Ivory soap and a bottle of chamomile enhanced shampoo. Part of him was impressed with the lack of clutter or over bright furnishings; the other part wanted to go buy a shocking yellow bath mat and throw out the plain white one she had clearly just purchased if the slight hump in it was any indication.

The lack of disorder, the non-existence of anything truly personal, said something about Emma. If he let it, if he really thought about the way she didn’t seem to want to make any mark or impression, it would certainly get to him. As it was, he refused to think about it, wouldn’t let his mind play these games with him. True, he felt like he knew her better after reading her files and talking to her father and Jacob. But he simply wouldn’t let himself feel anything more toward her than curiosity. With that thought rambling in his brain, Killian turned, the hiss and spit of the coffee pot behind him. And there she was, a sexy blonde haired elf in a disheveled bathrobe. As a small, puzzled smile spread across her face something inside of him bent, gave, twisted into a shape that felt somehow right. For the first time in his adult life, Killian found himself scared. 

Her presence unnerved him, she saw. He must not have heard her get up. “Deputy Jones,” she said, moving further into the kitchen, “what are you doing here?”

“I spent the night,” he replied in a steady voice, reaching his right hand up to scratch behind his ear. She went toward the island, needing to sit before her weak body gave out, and kicked something just before she sat. Looking down, she saw a large leather duffle bag, it’s outside scarred with age.

“Moving in?” she asked, raising her eyebrows in question.

“Sorry to burst your fantasy bubble, love, but, no. I was told by someone last night that I, and I quote, ‘smell.’ I had my baggage from my trip so I brought it in and borrowed your shower.”

“Thanks for putting it back when you were done,” she mumbled, collapsing as his chuckle ran up her spine. “So, you did go to Boston?” she asked, propping her head up on her fist.

“Yes, I did,” he admitted, “I talked with your father and then traveled down to meet with Jacob. Your father is a bit protective of you, but Jacob provided background on some of your past cases.”

A quick stab of annoyance resounded through her, aimed at both men. “So, he told you about my last time getting these visions?” she asked in a dry tone.

“Aye, a bit, but he mostly told me to read the files and trust you.” He had his back to her as he said that, fussing again with the pot. “Coffee?” Killian asked her as he turned again, disturbing her thoughts, his eyes studying every inch of her pinched face.

Emma knew she looked frightening – she never came out of these episodes looking like a super model. She had to strangest need to run back into her bedroom and put on make-up. Ridiculous, she thought. Her brain must be fried from this morning. “Emma?” His questioning voice broke into her thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, coffee, please. Black.” He nodded to her, then turned to get the cups down. She didn’t hold her head up long enough to watch him pour the strong brew, she just let it fall, face down, onto the polished wood of the table. She had forgotten how punishing this could be. Of course, she was probably more tired than she had usually become because she hadn’t done this in so long. Her body and mind just weren’t used to it. She heard him place the mug beside her, the feeling of the warm liquid pouring out of the thick stoneware and toward her cheek. Slowly, she pulled her head up, her loose hair streaming around her like a thousand useless strands of seaweed.  Killian watched her ease up, saw the exhaustion that stilled lingered in her eyes. She sipped her coffee carefully, her face relaxing when the caffeine hit her system. He had waited to begin asking questions until she had settled in and felt comfortable.

“Does it affect you like this every time?” he asked quietly. He saw her jump, knew that she had been expecting the questions, just not yet.

“I – well, no. Sometimes it’s not this bad, sometimes it’s a lot worse,” she replied softly, her eyes staring into the heavy white mug.

“What exactly happened?” he questioned, his voice still soothing. She heaved a sigh, sat back in her rounded wooden chair and reluctantly met his gaze.

“He found someone. His emotional excitement was so strong that it reached out and slapped me. It’s usually like that,” she explained, “it’s actually very rare for it to be a slow build. I tried to see where he was, tried to get an impression of anything or anyone that could be near him. But your knock interrupted me. I guess I haven’t done something like that in so long that it was taking me longer to get a true connection, and obviously it took more physical stamina because I hadn’t stretched my psychic muscles in so long.”

“Kind of like running a marathon after an injury you haven’t had physical therapy for?”

She gave him a wry smile and nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess it is like that.”

He looked down at his own drink, wondering how to word his next question. “And when you – uh – see the crime, what happens then?”

She turned away from him and he could see her weighing her words. Twisting her head back around, Emma caught his stare with her own, her green eyes swimming with deep and unchecked pain. “This is one of the few times I’ve linked with the perpetrator instead of the victim. I usually live the victim’s pain and/or death, and, needless to say, it’s very traumatic. It comes almost like a flash, even when I’m trying to deliberately reach the person. I hold onto them as long as I can, try to stay attached and see where they are, who they’re with. Then, after, I have a terrible headache and am completely drained.”

Killian wrinkled his brow, his mind taking in what she had told him. “A bad headache?” he asked incredulously, “I’d say it’s more like an A+ migraine. Imitrex is a pretty strong drug.”

She broke eye contact then, once again staring down into her coffee. “It goes with the territory. I haven’t ever known anything different – until this past year.”

And that brought up the one question he’d been clamoring to ask her. “What did happen in Denver, Emma? Tell me why you just shut down?”  His question, asked in such a kind tone and in such a quiet way, almost made her tell him. Almost. “I don’t want to talk about that,” she said, looking back up and into his face. “I’m not ready to share that with anyone outside of those who were involved. It’s too personal, and, frankly, up until this morning I thought you hated me.” She saw his eyes go wide, watched as he blanched at her comment.

“I didn’t mean for you to feel that way,” he said, leaning toward her. “I just didn’t want to be played – especially on this case.”

Emma simply nodded, completely understanding why he felt that way. With all the so called “psychics” on television proclaiming they could tell your future if you called in for the low price of $3.99 a minute, it was easy to be a non-believer. Heck, she probably would be too, with her pragmatic nature, if she hadn’t been “touched” herself. “Believe it or not – and I’m hoping you are starting to believe everything about me – I didn’t and don’t hold your views against you. I can empathize with you. This case is bigger than any one person, and to have it trivialized by a scam artist would be not only twisted, but a smack in the face of the victims.”

Killian sat and stared at her with startled eyes and one thick eyebrow almost reaching his hairline, his breathing heavy in the silence. “You don’t read palms, do you?” he finally asked, a lopsided smirk easing across his chiseled face.

“No, sorry. I leave that to the experts,” she replied, returning his grin, not admitting to the times that it happened by accident. She hadn’t read his thoughts yet, which was a blessing to her. They stared at each other for a moment, both warming in the others smile, sharing a friendly, easy truce.

“I’ve asked you all the questions so far. What about you? Do you have any for me?”

“You only have one hand,” she commented. “I guess that wasn’t a question.”

“No, but you seem new at the interrogation thing so I’ll let it slide. You are correct.” He lifted the gloved left hand and gave a sort of wave. “Prosthetic. Lost my real one in a fight years ago. Before I became a deputy.”

“Do you miss it?” she asked, wincing at the way the question sounded. “I mean…”

“It’s hard sometimes. I forget and reach for something and don’t remember that it won’t work the same. But I do love a challenge.” He gave her an awkward wink that was both endearing and silly at the same time.

“And am I someone you see as a challenge?”

He leaned his forearms on the counter. “Challenging, for certain.  So, ready for some real breakfast, love? And not this sugary cereal?” 

~CS~

Emma sat at her desk, the flicker of the computer screen and the scrolling mindlessly through her latest set of social media profiles mesmerizing her. It was not her favorite part of her job, but most of her skips were careless when it came to social media. Not pinpointing anything interesting, she let her thoughts sweep toward Deputy Jones– Killian as he insisted she call him – and the morning they had had together. He had made her pancakes, light and fluffy and laden with whipped cream and maple syrup, and then chastised her for not having any fruit. Giving her a short lecture about scurvy and her lack of vegetables, he admitted a few of his own food vices as they munched. Their time together had been light after his initial questions; apparently, he felt that he’d found out all he needed to know. Emma, on the other hand, still didn’t have a complete picture of the man who had become her self-appointed guardian. She knew he liked breakfast because of the way he wolfed it down. She’d also discovered that, like he enjoyed sailing, restoring old boats, and could identify the brand and age of rum by a single sip. They had indulged in several rounds of never have I ever before he finally told her he had to leave. He’d said there was one more thing to do before he left. Without asking for permission he had picked up her phone and inputted his own phone number. Killian had told her to call whenever she needed him, that she didn’t have the excuse of not having his number. Then he’d smiled that sexy lopsided grin and strolled out of the loft. The remembered feeling of depression when he walked out the door weighed on her even now. Why the loft should suddenly seem so one dimensional after his departure, she couldn’t say. Regardless, Emma had missed him after he had gone.

She wondered when she would see him again, when they would be able to just spend time together without the threat of death hanging over their heads. Never, she told herself decisively. She was not going to get involved with a man, not now, not ever. She’d been down this road before, blowing holes in the path with her bazooka of a talent. She couldn’t deal with that kind of heartache again.

Sitting back, Emma raised her hands over her head and stretched the kinks out of her back, wishing she had her comfortable but modern chair from her Boston apartment. The phone ringing at her hip made her wonder briefly if it might be Killian. 

“Happy birthday, peanut!” her father’s voice boomed as she adjusted the phone at her ear. “Good news. We’ll be home sooner than planned. Rather than take the cruise back up the coast from the Carolinas, we’re going to catch a flight or maybe rent a car. Unfortunately, it’s going to take a while unless your little brother can figure out a way to commandeer this boat. ”

“Thanks, dad, but you really don’t have to do that. I’m sure they’ll solve this case soon and I will be back in Boston,” she said as he began to belt out a jazzy rendition of the familiar birthday song. He of course asked of her plans for the day before her mother jumped on the line to give her own wishes.

“Ruby says you have only been getting take out and not just for one either,” her mother sing songed happily.

“Who are you buying food for?” her father asked. He then grunted, her mother clearly hitting him in the side.

“The deputies who have been doing surveillance,” Emma admitted a bit sourly. From the leaded windows behind the gauzy curtains she could see the empty street below. There was no sign of either Will or Killian. And while she was glad they were no longer seeing her as a suspect, she missed the familiar sight.

“Oh,” her mother said disappointedly. “I thought maybe…”

“Mom,” Emma said, tempted to pout like a teenager at her mother’s response. “I am not looking…”

“But that’s when things find you. You never know, dear. Your Prince Charming could be right under your nose.”

~CS~ Killian sat at the station going over the case files again, trying to piece together something, anything, that would help them find the killer. Each woman was different; they had nothing in common. They used different dry cleaners, two had cable and one had satellite, none shopped at the same grocery store or shared the same doctor. There was no evident tie that bound the unfortunate victims to each other. He turned to the evidence files, absently handing over the crime scene photos to Will as he went through them.  

“This is complete bollocks,” Killian muttered, his eyes taking in every detail of the black and white scenes. “There has to be something.”

Will kept quiet, he just sat and studied the information that was passed to him. He was as frustrated as Killian, but he had a cooler head; that was one of the primary reasons they had been paired. Killian’s tenaciousness and Will’s patience were a potent combination. Dissecting every word of the crime scene reports, Killian’s eyes swept over the sentence quickly, then, after a second, they snapped back to the words again. “His head itches,” he repeated quietly to himself, remembering what Emma had said. “Will,” he said, getting his partner’s attention, “his head itched.”

Will gave him a quizzical look, shaking his head slowly as he laid down the photo in his hand. “And the eagle flies at midnight,” the man retorted, “What the bloody hell does ‘his head itched’ mean?”

Killian gave his friend a satisfied grin, the realization of what he’d just figured out dawning on his mind. “Emma said his head itched,” he replied, “and the lab said the hair they found was synthetic.” Killian didn’t continue, he just stared at Will waiting, willing him to understand. He saw the moment the light bulb lit in the other deputy’s mind.

“He’s bald,” Will said, plopping down in his hinged seat. “The Storybrooke Stalker is bald.” They looked at each other, the fact that they had discovered this important detail about the killer an intense high. “We need to tell Graham,” Will commented slowly.

Killian nodded, his mind still leaping from one scenario to another. “He’ll be thrilled,” he said, the memory of the long conversation they’d had about Emma yesterday still lingering in his head. He would never have pegged his commanding officer as a person who believed in psychic abilities. But with her story ringing true, Graham had been insistent that they stay in contact with Emma, keep her informed of what was happening with the case. Sheriff Humbert had then duly appointed Killian as the liaison. Not that he minded; the chance to see her again was enough to make him keep any complaint to himself. He had enjoyed their morning together, had found himself laughing at her dry wit and strange sense of humor. “Come on, Jones,” Will said, interrupting Killian’s pleasant memories, “let’s give our boss a reason to smile.”  ~CS~

 

She was chopping vegetables for a stir-fry in her darkening kitchen when it happened. Her muscles tightened, her sight dimmed and she barely had time to register she was falling before it happened. Crawling across the floor, she clawed her way up the bar stool, jerking down her jacket to grab her phone from its pocket. She felt her body going numb even as she hit the memory button. _He crept into the large house, noiselessly moving into the kitchen. Conceited b*tch, he thought, she’d left the door unlocked. She thought the gated community was enough, that her money would keep her safe. He tried not to laugh as he imagined the shock and terror on her face. Power raced through him, heady in its intensity. Searching, he found the butcher knife in one of the kitchen drawers. Pulling it out, he studied it, pleased that the cook kept it so nicely cleaned and sharpened. He smiled, wondering if the stupid woman upstairs had ever even set foot in here. Probably not, but tonight she was going to get a lesson in cooking utensils. He did giggle then, the sound muffled and deliberately soft._   ---

Killian’s cell phone rang, jerking his attention from the red light. Flipping it open, he snapped out, “Jones.” When no one answered, a strange, odd sensation started in the pit of his stomach and snaked its way up his spine. “Emma?” he asked. Nothing, just soft breathing. “Emma! Emma, damn it, talk to me!” he commanded. Without thought, he spun his car around, u-turning and cutting off on coming traffic. “Emma!” he yelled.

“He’s – he’s with her,” she whispered, her voice barely discernable. “He’s doing it again. I can’t –“ She stopped speaking, her voice abruptly halting.

“Emma, love, talk to me! Say something!” He was beginning to panic, remembering what she had been like when he had found her before. “For God’s sake Emma, say something!”  ---

 _He eased back out of the kitchen and toward the stairs, his excitement rising with every step. He moved up the steps, lovingly rubbing the knife as he went. His breath began to quicken, his mouth dry with anticipation. This one would be good, he thought. She was enough of an idiot to comply, but had a survival instinct that would, eventually, kick in. She’d try to fight, but he would take control. Then she’d find out what it was like. Then she’d know. He found the room easily enough; she had left the door ajar as if she had been waiting for him. She was there, lying on the bed, her blonde hair spread behind her. Lovely hair, he decided, almost worthy of his touch. He slipped into the bed, the creamy sheets sliding underneath him._  

She tried to surface, mentally pulled at the water that was her mind. She could hear his voice in her ear, the phone lying just beside her from where she’d dropped it. Struggling, she pulled it to her mouth, her mind seeing her surroundings only as a transparent overlay. “Killian, I don’t know – I can’t see who she is. I don’t know,” she began to sob, frustrated, terrified, and knowing that the woman would die. And she couldn’t stop it.

“Emma, hold on! Do you hear me?! Damn it, just hold on!”

Killian whipped into the too small parking lot next to the loft, leaving his engine on and his door open as he sprang out and across the small courtyard and into the building. He barely touched the steps as he leaped up to her door. He banged on it, waited two seconds, pounded again. He could still hear her breathing into the phone, near gasps that came in spasms. Killian lifted his leg and kicked, once, twice. The third time splintered the wood, the fourth sent the door flying off its hinges. Killian searched the black living area then saw the stove light, the brightness a beacon in the dark. He ran across the hallway, intent on finding her, and almost stepped on the outstretched hand.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered, shoving his phone in his pocket and moving hers away from her prone body. She was lying in the floor, her body on its side, her eyes wide open and staring into space. She looked as if she were catatonic.

“Emma, Emma, love, come on. Come back.” He sat down on the wood, pulled her into his lap and began stroking her face. She gasped quickly, her breath stopping for a moment, then beginning again, this time in quick pants. Killian held her, rocked her against his chest. Her skin was so frigid, he thought, pulling down the sleeves of her purple sweater. He was lost, he had no idea what to do. She had warned him that her visions were worse when she saw the crime itself. Saw, hell, he thought, she was living it. “Emma, love, come on. Talk to me,” he begged. She opened her mouth and gave a blood-curdling scream. 


	3. Chapter 3

Killian pulled Emma’s lax body out of the car and ran into the emergency room, holding her in his arms like a small child. He hadn’t known what to do, only knowing that she had relaxed completely against him and closed her eyes after that awful yell. So he’d bundled her into the cruiser, put his police light in the window, and sped like a demon from hell through Storybrooke and to the hospital.  
“Help, somebody, help me!” he yelled, holding her against his body. Nurses rushed toward him, followed by Dr. Victor Whale.

“Deputy Jones,” he said in that soothing voice of his, “what happened?” The man began checking Emma before Killian had even begun an answer.

  
“She – I don’t know. I found her passed out on the kitchen floor,” he bit out, following the doctor as he waved him toward a curtained area. When they reached the bed, Killian gently laid her down, stepping back as Dr. Whale took over. “Carol,” he told one of the nurses, “I need her pressure and temp. We also need to run the basic blood panel.” The man turned from his patient, giving Killian a reassuring smile as the nurses began to undress her. “Why don’t you go wait? We’ll let you know when we have something to report.”

Reluctantly, he moved away, his gaze on the beautiful woman sprawled across the sterile white bed. The doctor had moved away from him already, his voice taking on a more commanding tone as he began ordering various tests.

A few hours later, Killian still sat in a cushioned green chair, a cold cup of the famous hospital coffee in his hand. He had called Will, told him that Emma had witnessed another murder. Now all they could do was wait. How frustrating must it be for her, he wondered, seeing it happening, not knowing who the victim was, not being able to see the address, barely able to communicate if she did happen to catch a vital piece of information. At least he got to go after the bad guy, piece the clues together, arrest the perpetrator and see him sentenced. But not Emma. He wondered if she ever really did get any kind of closure on these types of cases.

  
“Killian?” Dr. Whale’s voice came to him from across the room as he approached.

Killian stood, his nerves dancing. “How is she?”

“Physically, she’s fine. There’s not a darned thing wrong with her. We ran a C.A.T. scan and everything is in working order. Frankly, I’m not sure why she fainted. But, she’s fine now. She’s still out, but you can go see her.” He followed the other man to the room where they’d wheeled Emma, waited until the doctor had pulled the curtains back around them to grasp her hand.

  
“Oh, love, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “I wish I could take this away from you.” She didn’t respond, but at least her breathing was even now. She had been dressed in a white hospital gown; her face was the pasty white of glue and dark blue circles were beginning to form under beautiful eyes. “Emma, love, come on, it’s time to wake up. It’s safe now. I’m here.”

She heard the softest voice calling to her, the comforting sound pulling her from the weight of the darkness she was under. Slowly, she opened her eyes, her lids heavy with fatigue. The light shattered her calm, broke through her dream state. “That’s it. Open your eyes for me,” the voice coaxed. Emma turned her pounding head, squinting against the brightness, and saw him. “Kil-Killian,” she stammered through her dry throat.

“Aye, it’s me. You gave me a hell of a scare when you called.”

“Called, but why would I –“ A memory came to her, a sudden burst of a picture. The killer. He’d done it again and Emma had had the unenviable privilege to watch him at work. “Killian,” she slurred, “I’m sorry. Couldn’t see – don’t know –“ The darkness was calling her again, ruthlessly pulling her down into its depths.

“Don’t, Emma. It’s okay. You did what you could. Just rest, love.” She let the blackness take her then.

Killian sat beside her holding her icy hand. How in God’s name did she do this? The emotional strength it took to just be her must be overwhelming. Without conscious thought, he reached up and began tenderly stroking her hair. He wasn’t sure when it happened, tonight or when he’d been with her before, but admiration for Emma had settled tightly into him. It was bad enough going to the crime scene, seeing the aftermath of violence. But to live it, day after day, without knowing when or where it was coming, was beyond his comprehension. It was as if every time the killer hurt someone, he was hurting her, too. The thought of anyone causing her harm made his jaw clench, his hands fist. A feeling of protectiveness washed over him as he stared at her, watched the slow rise and fall of her chest. “We’ll catch him, Emma,” he told her in a quietly determined voice. “We’ll stop him, and you won’t ever have to see him kill anyone again.”

Killian didn’t see the man standing just outside the door, didn’t know the barrier wasn’t completely closed. The older man took out a notebook, scribbling hastily as he watched the deputy stand vigilance over the stunning woman. 

  
~CS~

Robin Locksley sat on the foot of the king size bed and watched his wife pull off her strapless velvet gown. As the burgundy material pooled on the floor, his eyes roamed her scantily clad body and his mind began to swirl with memories of their recent but too short honeymoon. “Don’t you agree, Robin?” she asked, slipping into her slick blue robe and belting it. Damn! He’d been enjoying her impromptu strip tease.

“Robin?” Regina repeated. Shaking his head, he looked at her with dazed eyes and raised his eyebrows in question.

“What?” he mumbled.

Giving her husband an indulgent smile, she sauntered over to him and dropped down onto his lap. “I said - it was strange that Mal didn’t show at the charity ball. After all, she was the one who organized it.” Robin began running his hands up and down her thighs, the feel of her making him crazy.

  
“Oh, Regina, you know Mal likes to pull disappearing acts. She enjoys the concern everyone shows her when she turns up.”

Regina reached down, taking Robin’s face in her hands and laying a soft kiss on his lips. “I know, you’re probably right. Still, I would think she would rather be there for the glory, you know? Maybe I should call Killian and ask him to go by her house.”

The sandy haired man took her delicate hands in his own, kissing her knuckles with tenderness. “That’s one of the things I love so much about you,” he said, “You have this driving need to take care of the world.” Regina sighed deeply, moving to leap off his lap. He grasped her hips to prevent her departure. “Okay, darling, if you’re that worried call him. I’m sure he’ll find her in a bubble bath reading a romance novel and eating Godiva chocolates. But, hey, Mal will probably get a thrill out of a cute lad checking up on her.”

She gave him a bright smile, placed a hard kiss on his lips and jumped up. “Don’t forget where you were,” Robin said, falling back onto the cool blue sheets as his wife picked up her phone. Poor Killian, Robin thought, was about to be handed over to one of the biggest vamps in all of Storybrooke. He just hoped his friend wore his Kevlar vest when he went over; Mal’s claws were sharp and liked to cut deep.

Emma sat in the police sedan, watching through the front windshield as Killian picked up their dinner at Granny’s, already knowing that the very act was going to keep rumors running rampant. Ruby, who apparently never took a night off, waved at her coyly through the window. When she’d woken a few hours ago, her head was not nearly as sore as she feared it would be. She had been slightly confused, not recognizing where she was. Then she had a slight recollection of being wheeled from the E.R. into the elevator and then into this room. She’d heard a light snoring then, knew she wasn’t alone. She had turned her head, finding Killian asleep in the institutional green chair, his legs sprawled across the floor and his arms hanging down off of the armrests. At that moment she had found him a hundred times more appealing than any male supermodel. She had tried to sit up, audibly wincing at the aching pain in her body. He must have heard her, because an instant later he was not only awake, but standing beside her. “Sorry to wake you,” she had apologized.

  
“Hey, no problem. It wasn’t like I was getting a proper nap in that thing. How are you?” His voice had been filled with concern, his eyes roaming her face.  
Emma had reached up and absently patted her hair, knowing she looked horrible. “I’m – uh – I guess I’m okay. My poor brain isn’t as tender as I thought it would be. My body, however, seems to be one big bruise.”

“You fell on the kitchen floor,” he had told her, easing down to sit at the foot of her bed.

“The kitchen floor, huh? Well, I can certainly think of softer places to land,” she’d commented, a small smile on her face. He hadn’t found her little joke too funny, though.  
Killian had stared at her with a quiet intensity that terrified her. “Emma, you took about ten years off of my life last night,” he’d said, his tone serious.

She had shrugged, not really knowing how to respond to him. “I told you, when I have actual visions they tear me up.” He hadn’t said anything, just reached out and took her hand in his.  
“You didn’t have to bring me to the hospital, you know,” she’d informed him, holding his silver blue eyes with hers.

“No, I didn’t know,” he’d responded. “I found you catatonic on the cold, hard floor and the only response I got from you was a heart jerking scream.”

Emma had remembered in that moment why she’d screamed. The killer had finished off his victim after several teasing attempts, strangling the life out of the woman. She had looked away from Killian then, not wanting him to see the pain lodged in her soul.

“What can I do for you?” he had asked.

“You can take me back to the loft,” she’d responded.

“But Emma –“

She hadn’t wanted to hear it, hadn’t wanted him to force her to stay in a hospital. How could she explain the suffocating emotions, the feelings of unresolved hurt that swam through her even at the thought of an emergency room?

“Please, Killian,” she’d pleaded, “if I’m going to be miserable I’d rather do it there. Well, actually I’d rather go back to Boston, but I have a feeling that wasn’t the last vision of this guy I’m going to get.”

He had studied her for a moment, then nodded his head. “Fine,” he’d answered, “go grab a shower and get your clothes on. We’ll be out of here as soon as possible.” He was standing at the door when he’d turned to ask her what her favorite take-out was.

“Granny’s,” she told him without a second thought. So now here she sat, watching her knight in shining armor answer his cell phone while he made sure everything he’d ordered was in the tall brown bag.

  
~CS~

Killian stood inside the busy diner and stole another glance at the woman in his car. She’d been fairly quiet since she’d woken up a couple of hours ago. She had been out for almost twenty-four hours, her exhausted body simply shutting down for mental repairs. When she said the episodes drained her, she wasn’t kidding. He’d thought twelve and a half hours was a long time for her to be asleep, for him to wait and make sure she was all right. The past day had been his own version of hell. He’d barely slept, catching snatches between the times he would wake to stare at her, making sure she was breathing. He lost track of the times he stood and walked to her, brushing her hair with his fingertips, watching for any sign of movement.

  
Falling in love shouldn’t be this complicated. His head snapped up, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. Falling in love? Where the hell had that thought come from? He wasn’t falling in love – he refused to be. And certainly not with an emotionally traumatized psychic. A beautiful, emotionally traumatized psychic; a funny, beautiful, emotionally traumatized psychic; an intelligent, funny, beautiful, emotionally traumatized – Oh, stop it, Killian! The shrill sound of his cell phone mercifully cut his thoughts off. Popping it open, he barked, “Jones.”

“That certainly isn’t the greeting they taught in that customer service training I’ve been talking to the sheriff about,” Regina said.  
Sighing on a laugh, Killian nodded to Ruby as she brought out a large brown bag and exchanged it for his check card. “Well, hello there Madam Mayor. I thought you’d still be at your fancy shindig.

Did Robin convince you to make an early exit?”

“We showed, then left early. Robin has contracts he needs to take care of before tomorrow.” Regina’s voice sounded strained, her tone full of concern.

  
“And what is it I can do for you, Madam Mayor?” he asked, digging through his order.

“I was wondering if you could go by and check on someone for me,” she requested. Killian pulled his head out of the fragrant bag and took his card back, leaning over to sign the small white register tape.

“Who are you so worried about, Regina?”

“Um, Mal,” she said reluctantly.

“Dragon Lady Mal? You’re worried about her?” he asked, dubiously. He heard her sigh, knew she was actually serious. “Okay, fine,” he answered, “I’ll have a car drive by, okay? In fact, I’ll request that they stay until she answers the door.”

“A car? Why don’t you just do it? I mean, her house is on the way to your place,” Regina said, pointing out an obvious fact.

“Yes, it is, but I’m not headed to my place right now,” he replied, rolling down the top of the take out bag.

“You’re not?” she asked suspiciously. “Where are you going, Killian?”

“None of your business,” he said in a hard voice.

Her laugh rang through the receiver. “You’re on a date, aren’t you? Killian Jones, you are actually out with a girl? I know you’re a frequent one for the one nighters, but an actual date? When was the last time you went anywhere, besides the here or Will and Anastasia’s, if it didn’t involve police business?”

Killian rolled his shoulders, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with her questions. “I’ll radio the station when I get to the car,” he muttered, “Good-bye, Regina.”  
“You took your police car instead of the Jeep? Killian, you should know better than that. She must be a very understanding woman if she didn’t bail on you the minute you pulled up.”

“Good-bye, Regina!” he said in a loud voice, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Ruby. “Politicians,” he told her with a wry grin, shutting his phone and taking the food out with him. It had turned into a very long night.

They sat on the wicker couch, empty food containers scattered on the small coffee table with the lights thankfully low. Killian had insisted she change into her pajamas – he intended to make sure she was ready for sleep whenever her body needed it. She had put on her loose fitting red flannel nightshirt, throwing her robe over it and slipping thick colorful socks. Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so relaxed. She leaned back against the armrest of the sofa, her feet companionably propped on his lap, her arms behind her head and her stomach full. She sighed contentedly, wiggling her toes as she lengthened her legs. “You look like a happy cat all stretched out and ready for a nap,” he commented from beside her.

“I am,” she said, her eyes closed. Friendly quiet hung in the air, both of them simply enjoying the others presence.

“Emma,” Killian said, breaking the mood, “can you tell me exactly what you saw last night?” Well, that did it, she thought. Her body immediately tensed with his question and she knew the respite was over. She sat up and scooted to rest her back against the cushions.

“I really didn’t see much of anything,” she answered, her voice soft. “I saw the inside of the house, saw her bedroom, saw her – I even saw what – what he did. But there wasn’t anything else. I told you, it’s been a long time since I’ve had to do anything like this, and even now I’m not sure if what I can and can’t do has changed. I’m sorry, I wish I could give you more.”

Her voice, so dejected and lonely, cut through Killian’s heart. He hadn’t meant to upset her. Reaching over, he gently took her into his arms, pulling her to his chest and inhaling her scent. Absently, he began a slow rocking motion, his hand running lightly up and down her back. “Don’t be sorry, Emma,” he whispered, “you’ve done more than enough. Your comment about his head itching actually gave us a small break.”

“It-it did?” she asked, her voice muffled against his soft blue shirt.

“Yes, it did. And when we catch him, you can help us piece together exact events to question him about. You’re not useless, Emma. You’re not doing all of this for no reason.” That must have been what she needed to hear, he thought, as he felt deep, racking sobs overtake her. He held her, let her cry the cleansing tears she needed so desperately. He didn’t talk, simply rocked her as she let go. When the worst was over she pulled away from him, searching for a tissue from the side table. “Better?” he asked as she turned back around to face him. That’s when he noticed the puckered scar just above her left breast, its bright pink skin causing a sickening sinking in his gut. He’d seen scars like that before, knew what caused them. “Who shot you?” he asked, his voice barely concealing his sudden and swift anger.

Emma stared at him a moment, puzzled as to how he’d found out. She followed his line of vision, saw that her robe and nightshirt had been pulled down and over enough for the mark to be seen. She didn’t know what to say, wasn’t mentally or physically up to recounting exactly how it had happened. “It was – it was a case,” she answered, slowly pulling her clothing back into place.

“A case,” he repeated, his gaze returning to hers. “The last case you worked on?”

“I – I –“ she stumbled, then simply nodded.

“Tell me Emma,” he implored, “tell me what happened. Tell me who did this to you.” She started shaking her head before he finished his request.

“Please, Killian, I can’t. Not right now. Please.” She turned her face away from him, a fresh round of tears forming in her eyes. The soft touch of his fingers on her chin made her turn back to meet his bright blue stare.

“I won’t force this,” he promised, “but I will find out, Emma. Eventually, someone will tell me, or when I delve in deeper to your past I’ll stumble across the answer. I just hope I get the truth from you before either of those happen.”

Reaching over lazily, she pulled her phone up and looked at the time. It was nearly 11:45. “Fifteen more minutes,” she said vaguely.

“Until?” he asked, eyebrows quirking upward in question. “You aren’t Cinderella, are you? Turning back into a pumpkin.”

“No, I’m…today is….well, today is my birthday. At least for 15 more minutes.”

His smile was bright as he watched her shrink back onto the oversized pillow behind her. “Happy birthday, Emma.”

“I hadn’t told anyone that it was today,” she said by way of explanation. I mean I heard from my parents, but they knew already. So you see…I can tell you things I don’t tell other people.”

He watched the pain settle in her eyes, hated himself for causing it even though he knew it was impossible to avoid. Her soft lips trembled, her teary eyes searched his, her body shivered under his hand. He couldn’t stop himself – didn’t want to, really. He leaned toward her, his gaze still locked with hers, bent his head down slowly, giving her the opportunity to pull away. She didn’t. The moment his lips tasted her mouth he knew he was lost.

It was a gentle kiss, for all its intensity. He brushed his lips against hers, asking for permission, begging for entrance. Her mouth parted slightly, answering his silent question with the need racing through her body. He grasped her bottom lip in his teeth, nipping it softly then sucking it. She returned the favor, pulling at his mouth with her own, her tongue hesitantly darting out to stroke where she’d bitten. He moaned, his heart thumping madly and his jeans growing tighter by the second. A kiss shouldn’t be this erotic, he thought absently. It shouldn’t have this power over him. Then he slowly rubbed his tongue against hers, drawing her flavor into him and savoring it. The sensation of their tongues entwining was making her mad with want, a strong need she’d never felt before. When she would have strengthened the kiss, he wouldn’t allow it. The agonizing pace he set was both fulfilling and frustrating for them both. But he didn’t want to rush, not something this unique. She moved closer to him, rocking her body into his, begging with her deepening kiss for him to touch her. He brought his hand to her jaw, stroking the strong line as he broke away from her mouth. “Emma,” he breathed, taking in her softened features for a moment. Then he was taking her lips again, the embrace becoming more urgent, more savage than before. She reveled in it, digging her hands into his back as she fell back, pulling him down on top of her. She could feel him straining against the rough denim, rubbing against her. If they had been naked, he would be inside her. The thought of them together, the idea of his hand stroking her naked body, shot a liquid heat through her, flushing her skin to a fever. He ran is hand into her long hair, twisting the soft tresses around his fist. He ground his mouth against hers just as he thrust himself into her pelvis in a mock play of lovemaking. He needed this, needed her, in a way he’d never wanted to.

Something began nagging at the back of his mind, something from the outside world that was trying to interfere with their sexual exchange. His brain finally registered the sounds. His cell phone was chirping loudly. Groaning, he pulled away from her, staring down into her glazed eyes for a moment, his breathing ragged. “I – I have to get that,” he said, his statement filled with regret. Emma nodded her understanding but kept her arms wrapped around his waist. Another groan escaped him as he leaned back down to give her a heated kiss, branding her lips with his. The phone didn’t stop. “Damn it,” he cursed, reaching over to grab it. “What?” he snapped.

  
“He got himself another one.”

The sound of his partner’s harassed voice snapped him to attention. Slowly, he eased away from the woman underneath him, absently pulling her up with him as he sat. “Where?” he asked.

“The house at the end of Nottingham,” Will answered gravely.

“Mal,” Killian said, wishing now that he had taken Regina more seriously. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Swiping to end the call, he looked down at the screen, finding that the text message stated exactly what he had just been told. Turning to Emma, he reached up to run a gentle finger down her cheek. “I have to go,” he said softly, “but I’ll be back soon.” She shook her head, opened her mouth to deny him. “No, don’t say it,” he told her, his voice quiet but his tone solid as steel. “I am coming back here tonight. You are not going to stay alone in this with a door that’s barely hinged. I’m going to have someone come out and watch the house until I get back.” With that he stood, bringing her to her feet as he did. He lifted her face with a hand under her jaw, lowering his mouth to hers for a tender kiss. He let her know that they weren’t anywhere near through with his one gentle touch. “I’ll see you in a little while,” he stated, then left through the battered door.  
Emma lifted her fingers to her lips, carefully touching the swollen skin. She had given herself over to him and to the feelings he created without a second thought. Now, though, she had a chance to truly rejoice. Killian had touched her, felt her, melded her body to his, and she hadn’t heard or felt anything but her own mind and body. A brilliant smile broke across her face, a giddy laugh erupting from her throat, maybe she wasn’t so broken after all.

~CS~

Killian stood at the scene, his nerves stretched to breaking. The damn press was all over the place, having been informed by their police scanners that the Stalker had struck again. Then there was the poor rookie who had, amazingly enough, seen Mal dead on her bed and hadn’t walked into the bedroom and contaminated the scene. He was sitting in his cruiser, shaking like a leaf, a brave look plastered on his face. Pacing through the living room and into the kitchen, Killian began carefully opening drawers with his gloved hands. He needed to find the knife the killer had used, and it should be down here, freshly cleaned.

  
“Killian, they’re taking the body out now,” Will said, poking his head through the swinging door.

“Aye, I’ll be there in a minute. I just want to –ah, here it is.” Killian picked the knife up gently, holding the thick wooden handle. His partner immediately moved in, watching as Killian slipped the evidence into a thick clear bag. “Take this out to the CSI guys, let them know it needs to be logged in before they start testing.” Will nodded, gingerly  
taking the plastic covered knife. “Hey, by the way,” Killian said, grabbing his  
friend’s attention, “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Well, depends on what it is,” the other man commented with a sly grin. “Nothing illegal or scandalous is it? Can’t be damaging the reputation.”

“Could you pick up a new front door at hardware store and bring it over to Emma’s? I’d do it, but I don’t have a truck.”

Will raised his eyebrows and commented, “I just have two questions for ya. First, what happened to her door? Second, since when isn’t a Jeep a type of truck?”

Killian shook his head slowly, a tired smile spreading across his face. “First answer, her vision of this murder. Second answer, no way in hell am I sticking any kind of wood into my precious Jeep. Good enough?”

Will just snorted and turned to leave. “Fine, Jones, I’ll bring a door – but you’d better feed me!”

  
~CS~

Emma curled into the pillows on the bed, her mind filled with the kiss she had shared with Killian. Always before there was a bombardment of thoughts and feelings from the other person. Now, though, it was different. Was it Killian? Or had her abilities changed after the trauma she had endured? She just didn’t know, and couldn’t bring herself to really care. All she understood was that when she’d kissed Killian, when they’d touched and explored each other, the world around her had exploded. The world inside, however, had stayed within – Killian on his side and Emma on hers. Two healthy adults with a strong attraction for each other, neither wanting to stop what had been so easy to start. If there were any emotional exchanges it had purely been on an animalistic level – and she loved it! Sighing with contentment, she snuggled deeper into the heavy comforter, a smug smirk on her face. Somehow, it just didn’t seem to matter as much anymore that she saw things, that she could hear scattered thoughts around her. And that might be enough for her to try again, not that she wasn’t scared. She was terrified.

  
By the time she fell asleep she had made up her mind that she would at least see if this thing with Killian was just a fluke or something more. Who didn’t want a good fling, she told herself, trying to quiet the voice that told her she wasn’t going to get away with calling it a one time thing.

She was so deeply asleep she didn’t even hear Killian as he stumbled into the house, shutting the damaged door as best he could. He’d relieved the officers sitting outside the house, amused when he saw that Emma had given them their left over grilled cheese, onion rings, and blackberry pie. What was the obsession she had with feeding the police? Not that she wasn’t right; all the officers he knew, including himself, loved to be fed. Peeling off his denim shirt and slinging it over the back of the couch, Killian moved toward the area used as a bedroom and pulled the screen behind him. He had every intention of sleeping with her. He wasn’t sure what exactly came after the ordeal of the visions wore off, but, if she had a nightmare, he wanted to be there to hold her and take the fear away. Stepping quietly to the left side of her bed, he peered down at her, taking in her slumbering face. She looked so peaceful, he thought, and so damn young to have the past that she did. Leaning over, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips, grinning when she gave a deep sigh and smiled back at him in her sleep. Still watching her, he pulled his white t-shirt over his head, kicking off his black sneakers as he did. When he reached for the button of his jeans, though, he stopped himself. Normally he slept in his boxers; he didn’t even own a pair of pajamas. But Emma wasn’t that used to him yet, Killian thought, and he sure didn’t want to push the line with her. Not after that incredible kiss. Not after the way she made his body go crazy and his mind go blank. Pulling at the toes of his socks with his heels, Killian allowed himself to go back to the embrace they’d shared. Emma had been so ready, so willing to let herself be taken. And he’d been just as willing to seize what she was offering. Damn phone, damn killer, he thought. He wanted to have her to himself, with no distraction, with no chance of being interrupted by his job or her second sight. But that was never going to happen. Even if he took her away to the farthest jungle, if she managed to connect to someone there was no way to stop it. He wished he could. He would do anything, give anything, to rip that ability right out of her so she wouldn’t have to go through that pain again.

  
Crawling into the warm bed, Killian turned toward her, pulling her back against his bare chest. Burrowing into her hair, he inhaled her scent, savoring it, then dropped a soft kiss on her head. Content, he fell asleep with her in his arms.

It was her that woke first her eyes fluttering open in the soft sunlight coming through the blinds. Too cold, she thought, burying her head in the toasty covers. She tried to roll over, running away from the bright rays, but a heavy barrier tucked over her waist prevented it. Slowly, her mind began to surface, her body taking in the sensations around her. That’s when she felt him, solid and hot against her back. Now she really didn’t want to get out of bed. Wiggling back, she snuggled deeper into him, happy to be exactly where she was.

  
“Emma, if you don’t stop moving like that neither of us are going to be relaxed for much longer.” His voice, slurred with sleep, ran down her spine like warm mercury. “I’m being a gentleman here.”  
“You’re a gentlemen or just pretending to be?” Her teasing voice was a bit deeper than her regular tone.

“I’m always a gentleman. And as a gentleman, I know you need your rest. You’ve been through a lot, Emma.”

“And what if I would rather have you than more rest?” she asked before thinking.

Killian sucked in his breath, his body hardening at her words. Oh, God, did she have any idea what she did to him? Testing, he slowly began nuzzling her hair. When he felt her breathing quicken along with his, her body unconsciously bowing against his, Killian knew she had meant what she said. Leaning up, he began nipping at her jaw, slowly making his way down her throat with his teeth and tongue. She tasted so damn good, like cinnamon and cream wrapped in warm velvet chocolate. He could so easily become addicted. Working his way further down, he eased the covers from her shoulder, carefully unbuttoning her nightshirt with his hand, pushing the material away from her arm as the flannel slackened. He ran his tongue over her exposed flesh, feeling goose bumps raise on her flushed skin. Killian moaned, his need for her growing with each taste.

Emma couldn’t catch her breath, didn’t care if her lungs collapsed or not. His hand felt so good against her, his mouth working its dark magic on her body. She leaned back against him, pushing him, needing him to take the next step. His heart hammered against her ear, his hips moving provocatively against her bottom. She gasped at the feel of him, hard and ready, pushing against her soft flesh. His hand moved from her clothes, the soft shirt falling open as his arm moved back up her body. Then she felt his hand, warm and callused, slide over her breast, his fingers kneading the tender skin. A loud moan escaped her lips, her legs bending to twine with his.

  
“I want you, Emma,” he whispered in her ear. “Say it, love. Say I can have you.” The sound of his voice catching on his ragged breath drove her mad, made her blood run thick and heavy with want. She rolled to him, her mouth immediately finding his, their mouths searing together. He groaned deep in his throat, grasping her hips with his hand he jerked her against him. She bit his lip sharply, then laved it with her tongue. He tasted so incredible, she thought, and began to wonder what the rest of him would feel like against her mouth. Slowly, she let go of his lips and kissed her way down his jaw, licked and sucked at the chords of his throat. When a sharp moan broke from him, Emma smiled, a heady feeling of power overtaking her. Moving lower, she gently kissed his chest, rolling herself on top of him for better access.

Killian laid underneath her, his body an inferno of need. If she stopped he was afraid he would die – if she continued he was afraid he would die. But then, heaven couldn’t be much better than this, he thought absently, then quit thinking completely when her tongue flicked over his nipple. He grabbed her head, grasping and twisting her hair around his hand. As she nipped her way across his heaving chest, he felt his mouth go dry, his jeans becoming a painful reminder of just how damn much he wanted her. The sound of banging in the living area yanked him unmercifully from his sexual haze. Emma obviously didn’t hear it. She stayed straddled over his flat stomach, her lips still grazing over his skin. He had just decided to ignore the noise when it started again. Damn it! What the hell was fate’s problem, anyway? Gently, he pulled Emma’s face up, bringing her swollen mouth to his. He brushed his lips against hers, felt the familiar flame she caused leap into his blood. “Love, we have to stop,” he said softly. 

  
“No, Killian, no. I don’t want to,” she pled, her eyes filled with confusion. The banging turned to the sound of a buzz saw. She noticed it then, her face going blank with puzzlement.

“I think Will’s here,” Killian explained, still cupping her face.

“Oh,” she replied on a sigh, “and why is Will here?”

“I asked him to pick up a door,” he said, tenderly brushing her hair out of her eyes. She was so amazing, he thought. So sensual, so sweet, so unbelievably beautiful – and she was slowly burrowing into his life, into his heart.

“Would you be terribly offended if I called you an idiot,” she asked, giving him a wry grin.

“Actually,” he replied, “I was about to do that myself.”

Killian wandered into the living room, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he went. He didn’t know whether to strangle Will or thank him. He had wanted Emma, was going to take her just a few moments ago, when his unwitting partner had decided to do his good deed at an ungodly hour. Leave it to his friend and partner.

“Will, good morning,” Killian said, picking up his long sleeved shirt from the couch and slipping it on. Will stood in the cold morning light, a tool belt around his waist, a power saw in his hand, and a pencil behind his ear. The wires from his earbuds were dangling by his neck. He yanked them out upon seeing Killian, poking his head through .

“’Morning. Thought I’d go ahead and get this up early so I could go car seat shopping with Anastasia.”

Killian moved closer, his bare feet frigid in the open doorway. “Didn’t fit, huh?”

Will shook his head, his attention focused on the door once more. “Nope,” he answered, “it’s a little long. This one was supposed to fit all standard openings. Leave it to Emma to have a unique door,”

Killian chuckled. The woman in question came around the corner, her hair dishevelled, her robe knotted tightly around her waist. She smiled at Killian and then gave a little less of a smile to Will.

“Good to see you again, Will,” she said, peeking over his shoulder at the landing that he had littered with the ill-fitting door, shavings, and various tools. “I Regina Anastasia’s doing okay. Uh, would you – would you like some coffee, maybe some toast?”

Will glanced up from his work, nodding his head with a smile. “Wouldn’t mind a nibble,” he said. He was about to turn back, about to bring his attention back to the door, when he saw it. It was a look, quick, really, almost gone before he’d seen it. But it had happened. Emma’s wide eyes catching Killian’s, her lids lowering slightly; Killian’s eyes bright, filled with a devil’s gleam, making Emma blush slightly. He didn’t say anything, pretended he hadn’t noticed it had happened. When the striking woman went to the kitchen, though, Will stopped and propped the door against the side of the house, turning his gaze to Killian. “Did I interrupt something?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What?” the other man asked, feigning confusion.

“Oi, you and Emma, you arse,” Will elaborated, “I interrupted something, didn’t I? I thought I heard something earlier, but I put in my earbuds to drown out the sound and Regina that it was coming from another flat.”

“Well, I – Will, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Killian answered, shoving his hand in his pocket.

“Oh, God, I did,” the man lamented, slapping his hands against his thighs. “I’m sorry, man, I really am. If I had known…”

Killian walked toward him, closing the few feet with a long stride and stepping onto the landing to put a little distance between the two men and Emma. “Hey, just don’t say anything, okay? I’m not sure exactly how she would feel about us advertising that there might be a relationship.”

Will couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Might be a relationship? What, was Killian blind, stupid or both? Even he could see the sparks flying between the two; and boy did he know that look well. It was one that he and Anastasia had been sharing for years, not to mention Regina and Robin. The small look, that simple exchange of thoughts without words, was more than an attraction. He would place money on Killian sporting a wedding band in less than a year. But his partner didn’t need to hear that right now, didn’t need to be told a truth that he hadn’t discovered for himself.

“Okay,” he finally told his friend, “I won’t say anything. But you can bet Anastasia and Regina will pick up on this little, uh, non-relationship the second they see you two together.”

“I’ll deal with that if –“

“When,” Will interrupted.

“Fine, when it happens. Until then…”

Will nodded, understanding Killian’s need for space. He just hoped he was there when one of the women started grilling him.

Emma stood in the kitchen, listening as the coffee pot sputtered to life. She hummed happily to herself, a little tune from Oklahoma that she’d been hearing in her mind since last night. “People will say we’re in love…” she sang quietly. Laughing at herself, as giddiness was not exactly something she exhibited often, she reached above her head to pull down three mugs from the cabinet. So what if they said things like world’s best mom, dad, and teacher? She should be frustrated; she should be angry; she should be tied in knots. But she wasn’t. Oh, not that she was happy that they’d been interrupted. She’d have absolutely loved to continue their little interlude in the bedroom. Her joy came from the fact that, once again, she’d gotten close to Killian and all she’d felt was the singeing need that he caused. Life, at this moment, was good. She heard the chirping of Killian’s cell phone, the now familiar sound no longer so irritating. She hoped they weren’t calling him in early. Or maybe he had today off. That could be really nice, Emma thought. The sound of his bare feet slapping on the hardwood floors brought her head around, the growing smile on her face faltering when she saw Killian’s expression.

“Emma,” he said softly, moving toward her, “Graham would like to talk to you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Killian stood outside of the Mal’s residence, his arm wrapped around Emma, supporting her. It wasn’t so much for her as for his own need to hold her close. She was stronger than most anyone he knew, a trait he greatly admired and wanted near him too. “You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, hoping she would agree. Wishing she would tell Graham to go to hell and march back to the car. But he knew, as well as he knew his own streak of righteousness that she wouldn’t leave.

  
“No, Killian, I have to do this,” she answered, confirming his belief. She looked so fragile, he thought, in her baggy gray sweater and black jeans, but there was a steel to her gaze and the firm set of her jaw. Her grip back on him was tight, as if she wanted him to be the anchor to reality when the lines began to blur. The wind whipped through her loose hair, pulling curling strands out of the braid she had plaited while he had told her earlier that this was not required. She had stuck out that chin with its slight indentation and challenged him again, reminding him that she was in charge of her own destiny. Changing tunes, he had asked her if she wanted her coat, the late October skies were filling with gray clouds and the temperature was steadily falling. She’d shaken her head, commenting that she would be warm soon enough. He hated the cryptic way she’d said that.

“Emma,” Graham said, moving up from behind them, “what do we need to do? Or not do?”

Emma licked her lips, wetting her now dry mouth. What did they need to do? They needed to catch this damn killer, she thought frantically, trying to calm her breathing. “Just get me inside,” she told him, “and don’t stop me, no matter what. Do you have a tape recorder?”

  
“Yes,” the Sheriff said, his voice soothing. “I hated to ask you to do this, but…”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Emma said, turning her eyes to him. “This man needs to be stopped, and you have to use anything you have at your disposal.” Taking a deep breath, she stared at the large brick mansion in front of her, beginning to focus, pulling herself inward for what was about to happen. “Let’s go,” she said.

They entered the house, the eerie quiet settling around them. Emma moved ahead of them, slowly losing the feeling of their presence. The room changed, became lighter, as if the last rays of the sunset were blazing in. She waited, knew it would come. Then she saw it, the wisp of a motion in the corner of her eye. Mal. “Where is that stupid phone number?” Emma asked, repeating what was playing in her head. “I have to find it. That damn idiot seamstress. She was supposed to have my dress delivered by now. If I have to pick it up tomorrow then my whole day will be shot.” She moved to the long table to her right, opening the drawer and digging through the papers. “Where is it? I know I…”

The sound of the doorbell in her own head stopped her movements. “It’s about time,” she muttered, flinging open the door. There stood the teenage delivery girl, a long garment bag in her arms. Reaching out, she unceremoniously grabbed the bag and sneered at the little blond. “Tell your employer I’ll never use her again!” With that she slammed the door.

I need to fast forward, Emma’s mind intervened. This isn’t what I need to see. Mentally blocking for a moment, she waited for the new vision to appear. She heard her upstairs, the bath emptying its water. Emma wandered upstairs, carefully making her way to the large master bath. Mal was sitting on the chair at the vanity, slowly rubbing lotion into her legs. Emma sat, melding into her. “Better,” she said, “much better. Who would have thought planning an event would be so nerve racking. Well, there had better be at least three pictures of me in the society page this weekend. And not of the insipid bookworm Belle and her sickening husband. They’ve had enough press coverage. Golden couple my ass.” Standing, Emma walked to the bed, flipping her hair as the ghost did. She sat on the soft mattress, reached over to pop a non-existent sleeping pill into her mouth and swallow it with the cup of water that wasn’t there. Finishing, she eased down into the bed. She lay there for a moment, the amount of time that Mal had felt had passed. Emma turned her head for a second, lazily smiling at the dark image beside her. She carelessly looked away, then quickly snapped her head back. “No,” she whispered, then opened her mouth to scream. A suffocating hand clamped over her lips.

“That’s enough,” Killian commanded, ignoring Graham’s outstretched hand. He strode to the bed, grabbing Emma’s shoulders and shaking her gently. “Emma, Emma. Stop it. It’s already happened. Stop it. Come on, come back, love.” He knelt down, began stroking her cheek with his knuckles. “Emma, please, you can stop now.” He had watched her roam through the house, her eyes glazing over, her personality seemingly changing before his eyes. It was not just creepy, it was disturbing. She had already been through this, seen what had happened to Mal – only she was the killer in her sight. Here, she’d become the victim. “Emma, that’s enough. We’re finished.” Her face cleared slowly, her eyes finally focusing on his face.

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes haunted by what had just happened. Then she turned her gaze to Sheriff Humbert, her face a study of disappointment. “She didn’t really see his face,” she said in a wavering voice. “Even though she left the bathroom light on, it was still too dark – he was backlit for most of the attack. The sleeping pill she took didn’t help, either. She was very groggy when he woke her.”

Graham nodded at her, clicking off the tape recorder. “Actually, you’ve given us some very important facts.”

“I have?” she asked. The look of desperate hope in her eyes pricked Graham’s heart, made him feel even guiltier for using her.

“Yeah, you did. We wondered about the drug in her system. We knew it was on her nightstand, but then, plenty of people have been poisoned by their own medication. And the bathroom light was off when the officers responded. So, he was in her bathroom.” Emma gave him a small smile, her eyes just beginning to show the onset of pain. “Let’s take her home, Deputy,” he said, turning away from the couple. He had seen the concern in Killian’s eyes, had watched as the two connected on a purely male-female level. Graham liked Emma; he only hoped she knew what she was getting into with Killian Jones. The young man was overprotective of those he cared about, a perfectionist in his work and was dedicated to his life as a bachelor. But once he met his mate, he’d fall quickly, heavily and forever. And Graham had the feeling that Killian had finally met his match in Emma Nolan.

As the trio silently left the house, a man ran toward them, a microphone in his hand and a camera crew behind him. The tall, slick haired male began asking rapid fire questions, his voice clipped. “Sheriff Humbert, why have you called a psychic onto this case?”

“Get out of here,” Graham yelled, shoving the man away.

“Come on, Sheriff. Tell us what she’s seen. Did she have a psychic vision inside the house?” Killian bundled Emma against him, trying to hide her face in his leather jacket. “Ms. Nolan, how does it feel to be working with the police again?” Emma hung onto Killian, trying to move quickly away from the camera. “Ms. Nolan, can you tell us who the Storybrooke Stalker is?”

Killian turned then, smacking his hand over the camera lens and glaring at the reporter. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but this is a police matter. Unless you want to be arrested for hindering a police investigation, I suggest you leave, now. And erase that tape.”

“So you’re saying Ms. Nolan is part of the investigation.”

Killian ground his teeth, on the verge of punching the man squarely in the nose when he felt Emma tug on him. “Let’s just go,” she said quietly, a look of inevitability on her fragile face. Killian nodded, dropping his hand from the camera and hustling her inside his car.

~CS~

Killian held Emma in his arms, her breathing even and deep. He had been furious when that damn reporter had ambushed them this morning. If it hadn’t been for the woman beside him, Killian would have nailed the slime ball in his nose and physically thrown him across the lawn. Curling closer to her, he pulled her against his chest, spooning her in his body. He wanted to take care of her, he thought, he needed to know that she was protected from idiots like Sidney Glass. Though part of him was interested in watching her fight back, as it was sure to be a spectacular sight. If he couldn’t keep the horrors of her visions away, he could make sure she wasn’t accosted because of them. He tucked her head under his chin, dropping a soft kiss on her hair as he did. Graham had decided and not so subtly ordered that Killian needed to stay with Emma; whoever the killer was now knew that she was helping with the case, and that could be dangerous. It was also decided that Emma’s parents were being called to fill them in on the happenings, a call that had been blessedly uneventful Killian decided, even though her mother had made a few remarks as to his presence. Still Killian had had every intention of coming back to the loft, with or without her permission. This latest turn of events only made it easier for him to be with her without an argument. Of course, Killian didn’t think that Emma would have put up too much of a fight, not after their little interlude this morning. Just thinking of the way they had touched, the way she had made him burn, Killian felt himself growing hard, his body yearning for the woman sleeping so peacefully. She needed her rest, though. She had come back from their unofficial walk-thru with an aching head and a tired body – though it wasn’t close to what she’d experienced the last few times. What was he going to do with her, he wondered. Emma was becoming a liability for his heart, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. He didn’t want to use the word love, hesitated as the idea of it roamed the edges of his mind. Killian knew he needed to explore what was happening to him, wanted desperately to find out exactly how Emma felt about him. If their kisses and caresses were any indication, she was just as infatuated with him as he was with her. Taking a deep breath, he mentally told himself to relax. As his muscles began to ease, his mind clouding with sleep, he wrapped his legs around her, smiling as she sighed contentedly into her pillow.

Later Killian woke to the feel of soft, hot lips kissing their way down his bare chest. The dullness of sleep as immediately pushed away, his body taking over his mind. He reached up, twined his fists in her hair, revelled in the feel of Emma all around him. Her mouth moved lower, grazing his ribs, his abdomen, her tongue darting quickly in then out of his belly button. He let go of her tresses, felt them tumble over his sides and chest, the sensation sensual and teasing. He felt her hands move between their bodies, the echo of his zipper an erotic sound in the silence. Her fingers worked their way inside his boxers, her nails scraping dangerously close to him. He pulled her up, wanting this experience to last a while longer, smiled as her hair created a silky curtain enveloping them in privacy. He realized then that she was naked, her lovely body astride his with only the thinnest of barriers separating them.

“Emma?” he asked softly. Her gentle smile told him everything he needed to know. Capturing her lips with his, he seared them both with the lightning that passed between them. Without breaking their kiss, Killian rolled her over to her back, his hand roaming her bare skin. He kneaded her breasts, then slowly, enticingly, pulled her nipples, the sensation evoking a deep gasp from her.

Emma lay beside him, her body open for his exploration. She had wanted this so badly, needed to finish what they had started twice and never completed. The feel of his mouth leaving hers almost caused a protest, until his teeth scraped her breasts gently. Emma felt her body bend towards him, involuntarily begging for a release. His hands worked their way down, lightly touching her ribs and hips, then moving even farther down. When his palm cupped her, squeezed, testing, she moaned loudly. He pulled away for a moment, his mouth licking and sucking its way up the column of her throat. When his body returned, he was nude, the contact of his skin rubbing against hers an almost unbearable sensation. She seized his lips, her tongue lunging in to twist and tangle with his. Emma heard him groan, revelled in the power his excitement brought her. Then he was resting his thigh between hers, his muscles contracting as they rubbed against her, coaxing her legs further apart. She obeyed his silent command, gladly giving Killian anything he asked. He raised himself up, caught her gaze with his and cupped her face. Gently, slowly, he entered her, stretching her as he moved deeper.  
He lowered his head, rested his forehead against hers for a moment, the eased his mouth over hers, the soul shattering kiss moving her attention from his movement. He was moving inside of her, completing her. She moved with him, cautiously at first, testing that she was not about to have his thoughts invade hers, then with more speed, more abandon. She matched him move for move, rising to meet each thrust as the tempo increased. Something inside of her began to unfold, a hot sensation building, knotting, twisting, pulling her closer to a ragged edge. She heard his breathing quicken, felt his hips begin to move even more frantically, the pace becoming almost intolerable. Then she was cut loose, her whole body flinging itself open and over the ledge. She flew up, her mind shattering and numbing when her muscles tensed and released. And she felt Killian, too, following her into the same world of bliss. She held onto him, let the world and time simply disappear until there was just Killian and this one moment.

~CS~

Anastasia wandered into her kitchen, intent on finding the tub of grapes she’d washed and stored the day before. She couldn’t believe she was eating so much in the last few weeks of her pregnancy. It was going to take years to get her figure back. As she stuck her head in the cold refrigerator, the phone jangled, calling her away from her mid-morning snack. Pulling the cordless phone off the counter and up to her ear, Anastasia smiled into the receiver. “I’m fine, Will. No contractions yet.”

“That’s good to know, Anastasia, but you’ve got the wrong person,” Regina said, laughing.

“Oops, sorry ‘bout that. I guess that’s what I get for thinking I’m psychic,” Anastasia replied, walking back to pull out the grapes.

“Speaking of psychic,” Regina put in, “I’m a little worried about Killian.”

Anastasia didn’t need to be told exactly what her friend was talking about. Pulling the lid off the Tupperware, she leaned her hip against the counter. “Emma Nolan?” the pregnant woman asked.

“Yes, Emma Nolan,” the other woman answered. “Robin just called to tell me he met her – at the hardware store. Apparently, she’s doing some work on her parents’ place. He said she seemed nice. But, Anastasia, Killian is like a brother to Robin and he’s…and –“

“Wow, hold on Regina,” Anastasia said, popping a grape in her mouth. “How do you know something is going on between Killian and Emma?” She wasn’t about to tell her friend about the suspicions that Will had about the two. She personally barely remembered the girl from high school, as their schedules were different and they ran in different circles.

“I’m not sure,” she answered, “maybe the way he was holding her when I saw them on the news, maybe just a feeling. Regardless, you and I both know that Killian’s never really been serious about a woman. And if he is getting tangled up with Emma Nolan, I’d like to have an honest opinion of her.” A moment of silence stretched, then Anastasia said what she knew Regina was waiting to hear.

“Would you like me to invite them over for dinner?”

A grateful sigh sound through the phone. “Oh, Anastasia, that would be wonderful. I trust you, and since Killian has pretty much adopted you as a member of his family too, maybe he’ll be comfortable enough to act before he thinks. And I’ll even cook and drop it off for you. You can take all the credit.”

“I just hope Will doesn’t kill me,” the blonde grumbled.

“Just blame it on me,” Regina said. Anastasia chuckled, picking up another grape to eat. “Thanks, I will.”

~CS~

Killian paced the living area of the loft, furious with Emma, angry at himself. He’d woken this morning, reached for her, and found only a cold pillow. She had snuck out and left him sleeping. She knew better, damn it! She was not to be alone at any point. But what did the stubborn woman do? She had left and gone to do some silly task at the farm before her parents returned early from their trip. Killian snorted, running his hands through his tousled hair. He had called around after she had failed to answer her own phone, finally reaching Granny who after a lecture said that she was on her way back and just fine. He hadn’t known whether to be thankful or upset – he decided on both. She shouldn’t have gone anywhere without him behind her, watching her nicely shaped butt. The sound of a key turning in the door brought his head up, his eyes filled with rage and relief.

Emma stopped to wave at Will who had followed her home, signaling that he could leave. Shutting her new door, she turned to find Killian staring at her, his face a study of fierce composure. “Good morning,” she said softly, moving toward him.

“Where the HELL have you been?” he ground out, crossing his arms over his chest. Emma stopped, almost reeling from his anger.

“I – I went to the farmhouse,” she answered hesitantly.

“The bloody farm,” he bit out. “You decided to go to the farm? I won’t tell you how crazy that sounds. Why didn’t you wake me up?” Emma put her hands on her hips, tilted her head and wrinkled her brow in confusion and rising indignation.

“You were asleep,” she told him, “and after the last few weeks I figured you needed as much rest as you could get. Was I wrong?”

Killian took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he studied her. What was his problem, she wondered. Why was he acting this way? She’d only gone to the store and then to the farm to make sure that her parents would have hot water when they got home. It would prevent them from wanting to stay at the loft with her, with them, for goodness sakes.

“So, you decided I needed the rest?” he questioned. “You didn’t even think that maybe you needed a break? Okay, fine, so you left me in bed. You went into town without someone to watch your back.”  
Emma watched as his handsome face became harder, his cheekbones standing out, his jaw clenching. “Do you have any idea what kind of danger you put yourself in? Did you completely fry your brain doing that walk-thru?” His voice was rising, echoing off the thick walls.

“Killian, calm down,” she began, settling the bag from Granny’s on the counter.

“Calm down? Calm down?! I wake up to an empty bed, the woman I’m falling in love with gone without a trace, a killer on the loose who knows she’s seen him murder, and you tell me to calm down! I don’t think so. I don’t believe that is possible.”

Emma, all her frustration and pain building from her gut, let her own emotions explode from her mouth. “Killian, shut the hell up!” she yelled back, satisfied when Killian stopped to stare at her. “I am not an idiot! I’ve played this game before, remember? I called Graham and told him I needed an escort, you pompous ass, and he had someone here before I got out of the shower! Now would you please calm own?!”

Killian stood stock still, watching her eyes blaze with irritation and exasperation. She was magnificent, he thought absently. And, luckily, she’d been so angry she hadn’t heard the slip. He waited a beat, then reached out to grab her waist, jerking her against him. Cradling her head in his shoulder, he held her fiercely, burying his face in her fragrant hair. “I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I was just so worried. I got up this morning and you weren’t there; and after last night, well, I guess I’m just arrogant enough to think that you’d stick around. I didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to do.” He felt her smile against his neck, heard a soft laugh as she squeezed him back.

“Oh, Killian, I’m sorry, too. I didn’t think this morning. I was so high from last night that I guess I just floated around with my head in the clouds. I should have at least left you a note.”  
He let go of her waist with one of his hands, stroking her thick hair with his fingers. “I shouldn’t have yelled,” he told her quietly, “I should have known you’d be smart enough to have someone follow you. It’s just – if something ever happened to you…”

Emma pulled away from him and stretched up to place a gentle kiss on his lips. “As long as I have you, nothing bad will ever happen.” Killian grinned down at her, his heart expanding and aching with brightness. What this woman did him was beyond anything in his experience. He leaned down, his eyes intent on her luscious mouth, when his cell phone chirped, annoyingly loud in the sexually charged silence. Sighing, Killian again cursed the vagaries of fate and ripped the phone from his belt. “Jones,” he snapped.

“Hey, Killian,” the singsong voice of his partner’s wife rang out to him. Rolling his eyes, he pulled Emma against him gently, absentmindedly rocking back and forth as she cuddled into his chest.

“Anastasia, how are you?” “Still pregnant,” she answered on a groan. “I was just wondering what you were doing for dinner tonight?”

Making love to a beautiful woman, he thought. “Uh, why do you ask?” he questioned.

“Well, I was just thinking that you could come over, maybe have some homemade lasagna? I’m on a nesting jag and can’t seem to quit cooking,” she lied happily, hoping he wouldn’t see through her. Killian’s stomach grumbled, the idea of home cooked food bringing on immediate hunger. He really didn’t want to go, didn’t want to give up even a moment of alone time with Emma. But he liked Anastasia; she had become like an annoying little sister to him over the years. How was he supposed to tell her no? “Sure,” he answered on a sigh, “but I have to bring Emma along.”

“Oh, that’d be great!” Anastasia enthused, a little too brightly, Killian thought with suspicion. “We’ll see you around six?” the woman continued.

“Yeah, six,” Killian agreed, his attention beginning to shift to the sexy creature in his arms. “Bye,” he said, without waiting for any response. Shutting his phone off, Killian lifted Emma’s face with his hands, cupping her jaw in his palms. Holding her gaze with his his own, he asked her a silent, heated question and was answered with an equally sizzling stare. Lowering his mouth to hers, he captured her lips, demanding a reaction she was only too happy to give him. He groaned, his need rising quickly as their tongues met, tangled, commanded. Lifting his head a few scant inches away from her, Killian looked into her eyes again, his breathing already heavy. “Do you know how much I wanted to wake up to you this morning?”

He continued to tell her what he had thought and planned as he led her toward the bedroom, his words creating erotic images in her own mind. She halted his musings with a swift and violent kiss to his mouth, swallowing his groans as she ripped at his clothes. Emma felt him do the same, unbuttoning her black sweater and tossing it across the room. She pulled at his shirt, buttons exploding as she impatiently yanked at the soft material. Finally, his chest was bare, his warm skin begging her to explore its hard plains. Killian jerked at her jeans, the long dark cotton slithering down her thighs as it fell to the floor. Emma began working on his jeans then, breaking her nail as she wrenched the button loose, tugging the zipper open and peeling the denim over his hips. Moaning they stood together, their lips sucking and nipping, their skin rubbing against each other in near nudity. Frustration began to quickly build, both of their bodies heating with their desires. Killian spun her, walking her backward to her bed. He stopped her as the back of her knees hit the mattress, deftly unclasping her lacey white bra, throwing it onto the chair across the room, then quickly discarded her matching panties. Emma felt her body going taut, her muscles tightening in anticipation of his wickedly delicious onslaught. Then she was prone on the fluffy comforter, his body, now completely naked, covering hers. “I have to have you,” he whispered hoarsely, “then I’ll be able to go slow, take my time, and give you what you need. But I have to have you, now.” With that, he slipped inside of her, moving slowly, pulling her up farther and farther with each stroke.

Killian watched her through a blue haze of passion, felt her body catch and hold the rhythm he set. She began thrashing her head, her moans becoming more and more urgent, her skin flushing, her thighs tightening around him. Oh, God, he had wanted this to last, wanted to bring her to a slow release, but he couldn’t wait. He felt her body constrict, saw her face tense as she reached peek, her voice chanting his name in a loud, uncontrolled voice. Killian couldn’t hold on. He let go, answering her cries with his own.


	5. Chapter 5

Emma strolled with Killian toward the park, a light layer of snow covering the trees and grass. Fat flakes had begun falling the second time Killian had made love to her, his technique flawlessly and excruciatingly perfect. She had fallen asleep in his strong arms, her limbs blissfully numb. When Killian had finally roused her enough to tell her he wanted to take her somewhere before dinner, Emma had crawled from the warm bed and into a scorching shower. Only to be joined by the amazingly talented man and his equally startling hands and body. Smiling to herself, she squeezed his large hand with her own, reveling in the feel of their fingers twined together.

When he stopped, Emma halted, too, her eyes adoring his face. “Ms. Nolan,” he said formally, trying to hide his smile, “it has come to my attention that you were a various serious child. That, in my opinion, is a damn shame.”

She simply nodded her head, so besotted with his presence she couldn’t bring herself to care that she didn’t understand what he was saying.

“With that in mind, I have decided that you need a break from being an adult,” he stated matter-of-factly. Turning, he pulled her by the hand to a small swing set, gently settling her onto its frigid seat. “Wait here,” he said, running around behind her. Carefully, he began pushing her, the icy wind licking at her hair and nipping her ears and cheeks.

She began to giggle, couldn’t stop herself. “Higher, Killian,” she requested. She heard him laugh, could picture his heart-stopping grin. He pushed her harder, sending her farther up into the air. Delighted, she let her head fall back, for a moment in time letting her cares roll away from her. Killian stood behind her, watched as her head came back, her eyes closing, a brilliant smile lighting her face. She needed this so badly, he thought, and she didn’t even know it. Emma was the kind of woman who lived day to day, believing her life was moving along just fine – because she hadn’t ever known what life could really be like. While she was certainly capable, he wanted to take care of her, wanted to be there when she discovered the pleasure in living. Sighing inwardly, Killian abandoned all pretences. He had fallen in love, without preamble, without enticement. His heart had decided on Emma Nolan, and his body had readily agreed. Now he just had to find out if the remarkable woman in the swing felt the same. Anastasia watched the couple sitting on the coach as they sipped their coffee and chatted with Will. Killian is in love, she thought with a smile, and the woman loves him back. She had been prepared to question Emma Nolan, had been set to put her foot down and demand Killian quit following his libido. Then she’d seen them together, saw the sweet way Emma gazed at him, her eyes filled with awe. And Killian had returned that same look, his face softened by his obvious feelings. It had taken Anastasia all of five seconds to figure out that their emotions ran much deeper than simple lust.

The clincher had been when Emma, a bit hesitant and with a bit of fear in her eyes, had asked permission to feel the baby move. No one had ever asked her, had just assumed she wouldn’t mind a stranger’s hands on her body. Anastasia had agreed to the other woman’s request, grinning as Emma’s face had slowly lit with wonder. The pregnant woman realized then why Killian had fallen so hard so quickly. That amazing smile of hers made you feel like you were the most important person in her world – and, at that moment, you were. Yes, Anastasia was impressed Emma, something she realized she should have been in high school if she had been paying attention. She only hoped the over-protective Regina would like her as much as she did.

“Anastasia, let me help you with the dishes,” Emma said, standing and walking to the small dinner table.

“If I weren’t pregnant, I wouldn’t take you up on the offer,” Anastasia told her with a smile. Emma returned the grin, slowly stacking dishes in her hands.

“Well, you’re the one in this room doing the most work,” she replied. “After all, you are creating a life in there.” Anastasia chuckled, her opinion of the other woman going up a notch.

“Come on,” she said over her shoulder, “I’ll show you where the dishwasher is.” Emma followed the waddling Mrs. Scarlett into the homey kitchen, her heart light. Anastasia was exactly as she had pictured: lovely, intelligent, outgoing and funny. Precisely the foil Will needed in his life. From what she remembered of the woman, the fact that she was so down to earth was a miracle. Her mother had been a social climber, pushy and domineering. Emma would have to ask at some point how she had managed to break free from the woman’s grasp and end up with Will.  

“The lasagna was incredible,” Emma commented, watching as the other woman opened the stainless steel dishwasher door.

“It’s my friend’s recipe,” Anastasia replied, moving out of Emma’s way as she began loading dishes.

“Is it a family secret, or do you think I could wheedle it out of you?” Emma asked.

Oh, you’ll be family soon enough, Anastasia thought silently. “Uh, sure, I’ll text it to you before you leave,” she answered.

Emma felt it then, the icy fingers stroking the base of her neck, her head beginning to squeeze and fade away. “Ki-Killian,” she tried to yell. Her voice came out as a small squeak, her body slowly collapsing toward the tiled floor.

“Killian!” the sound of Anastasia’s panicked voice rang out. “Killian! Something’s wrong!” Emma heard the sound of pounding feet, felt his strong arms gather her up – then she wasn’t there. _She had come back to the house. He had known she would; after all, he wanted her. He watched as she entered the sturdy two-story home, the door slightly ajar. Easing in, he slid up the stairs silently, listening to her voice as she spoke out loud. His heart began to pump with electric strength, the undercurrent of happy inevitability running with it. He found her in her bedroom, her eyes on the clothes and toys she was pawing through. “Come on,” she said, “I know you’re here. Roland won’t do his sleep over without that silly bear.” He moved quietly behind her, waited a beat, and grabbed her around the waist. She hesitated for a heartbeat, then began fighting. Oh, she’s as good as I’d hoped, he thought, dodging her blows._

_Quickly, he spun her, slamming her head against the heavy wood bedpost. She fell, dazed by the blow. He climbed on top of her, punched her again, keeping her addled as he spoke. “You’re the beginning of something big,” he said softly, “be proud. You’ll be a martyr for my cause.” He reached back, slapped her again violently. “Ummm,” he moaned, “this is going to be even better than the others.” Pricking her skin with the razor sharp point, he smiled as the blood trickled down her ribs._

_“Regina, I’m home!”_ “Emma, Emma, wake up,” his voice, so stern, so intent, pulled at her. “Now, Emma, come back right now,” he demanded. She fought off the painful gray, pulled herself closer to Killian. “Don’t do this,” he told her softly, “you have to wake up.” Emma shook her head carefully, blinking her dry eyes as she tried to focus.

“Apples,” she whispered across dry lips. She didn’t notice the shocked silence, didn’t know she’d caused a quick and alarmed look to pass between the three people watching her.

“Bloody hell, he’s after the Mayor,” Will breathed. He ran to the door, stopping long enough to unlock the drawer on the small table and yank out his gun.

“Darling –” he began. Anastasia immediately shook her head.

“No, go. You and Killian go, I’ll keep an eye on her.” Killian dropped a tender kiss on Emma’s forehead, carefully lowering her head onto the soft couch.

“We’ll be back,” Killian told her, then sped out behind his friend.

~CS~

“Regina, I’m home,” Robin called, dropping his bags at the front door. He’d called Zelena on his cell, only to be told that his wife had run home to pick up Roland’s favorite toy. He had immediately driven to the house, a strange and horrible sensation crawling his spine. “Hey, Regina, where are you?” he yelled again. He looked around the darkened entryway for a moment, and then headed up the stairs and toward the master bedroom. Halfway up, a black silhouette barrelled past him, pushing him viciously against the hard wall. Robin almost turned to follow, determined to catch the invader of his home. Then a sickening feeling filled his stomach. “Regina! Regina!” He raced to their room, stopping to flip on the light. There, on the floor, lay his wife. Several brutal bruises were beginning to form, the bright red and purple marks swelling. Her beautiful mouth was inflamed, spots of bright red blood sprayed across her cheek and down her jaw. “Oh, God, Regina!” Robin moved to her, kneeling down to find her pulse. He held his breath, praying he’d find one. When he did, he dropped his head down, sending a thank you to God, then pulled out his cell phone to dial 9-1-1. Killian and Will sped through the dark streets of Storybrooke, the bright police light reflecting off the windshield. They didn’t speak, just stared out as the lights whipped by. They had to get there, Killian thought. They had a chance this time. A chance to keep a victim alive, a chance to catch the Stalker. “I’ll call Graham,” Killian said, pulling the radio from the dash. “Dispatch, this is Deputy Jones. I need back-up and a message relayed to Sheriff Humbert.”

“Go ahead detective,” came the no-non-sense female voice. “There’s a crime in progress at 2554 Main Street,” Killian said, grasping the seat as Will yanked the car around a corner.

“10-4, I’ll dispatch two units and relay the message.” “Also, I need a unit at 519 Merry Lane.”

“Will do, Deputy Jones.” The quiet of the car descended again, both men intent on getting to the scene before it was too late. Cora Millis moved around the living room of her overly large house, her nightgown floating behind her. She had meant to get a bit of extra sleep, as she had back to back appointments the next day. However, the book she had been reading was leaving her wanting more and one more chapter became seven. The phone in her pocket chirped out loudly, causing her to jump, disturbing the champagne glass she was carrying back to bed.

“Hello?” she said, smiling.

“Oh, she is so lovely, isn’t she?” a dark, male voice asked.

“Excuse me?” Cora questioned, confused. “All that beautiful strawberry blonde hair, that sweet laugh. She is near perfect.” Cora felt her heart stop, her breath catching.

“Who – who are you?” she whispered. “I am vengeance,” he replied, “and Zelena is my justice.”

The phone went dead, silence buzzing in her ear. “Oh, God. Oh, no. No, no, no,” she chanted.

As Robin and Cora felt the panic set it, things were a bit quieter at the Scarlett home. Anastasia watched the woman on the couch, an eerie memory of earlier passing before her eyes. She’d had no idea what it would be like to see her have a vision, and it was more terrifying than she’d thought it would be. Emma had given no warning, had simply called for Killian then collapsed on the kitchen floor. She’d gone into a catatonic like state, her eyes staring blankly, her chest barely rising with air. Rubbing her back against an aching pain, Anastasia eased back into the recliner and closed her eyes. She would rest a few minutes, she thought, then she’d check on Emma again. She was just so tired today, her body becoming overburdened in the last stages of pregnancy. After a moment, Anastasia drifted into sleep. She had wanted to stay up, but she knew that Will and Killian would soon be arriving at the mayor’s house, an ambulance hot on their heels. They found Robin upstairs with his unconscious wife, his face white as he talked to her. Killian was torn between relief that Robin had gotten there in time to prevent Regina’s death, and disappointment that he’d interrupted the Stalker, giving him a chance to run. They waited while the paramedics stabilized the mayor. Will placed a hand on his childhood friend’s shoulder as they wheeled Regina down the stairs and into the waiting ambulance. “Go with her,” Will said. “We’ll question you at the hospital after we’ve secured the scene.”

Robin had nodded, his attention on his sheet covered wife. Standing on the porch, Killian watched the bright lights disappear down the road, his friend beside him. “We’re gonna catch him, Will,” Killian assured, “he’s slipping.” The other man only nodded, unable to speak at that moment. Killian’s phone rang then.

He turned his back to his partner, answering with a curt, “Jones.”

“Killian, it’s Zelena,” Cora stated without preamble.

“Zelena? What’s wrong?” Killian asked, his voice concerned.

“I believe she’s been taken,” Cora said, her voice cracking with rarely shown emotion.

“Taken? As in kidnapped?” Killian questioned, incredulous.

“Someone called here and insinuated that he had her, that he was going to hurt her.” “Oh, God, dad. When did they call?” “About twenty-minutes ago. I tried to reach the damned sheriff, but he wasn’t taking my calls.” She was barely holding it together, Killian thought, hearing the breaking tension in the older woman’s voice.

“Okay, we’ll head over to her house…” Will’s cell sounded, causing Killian to turn his head as his partner answered. “Let’s go,” he said to Will, walking fast toward the cruiser. Sliding into the driver’s side, he listened as his friend radioed in. “Dispatch, we need another two units at 13201 Green Apple Way.” Both men sped the opposite direction of where Emma and Anastasia lay as prey.

Emma was in blackness when the tightening and chill ran up her spine again. This time, she saw the outside of the house she was in, the dim light from the kitchen illuminating the back door. He crept up, turning the knob slowly, rattling it quietly. When it didn’t give, he dug out a pick kit from his dark pocket, a giddiness spilling over into his veins. It was so easy, he thought, almost too easy to finish his little collection. Picking the lock, he came in, his eyes adjusting to the light. He didn’t need a knife, not yet. That wasn’t the purpose of this exercise. Moving silently to the living room, he grinned as he found the two women asleep, one on the recliner, the other sprawled across the couch. Again, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small vile and a fresh white hanky. Pouring the liquid on the cloth, he placed it over Anastasia’s face, smiling when her pregnant body relaxed further. Then he walked to Emma, stared down at her with a leering smile. “I know you see me,” he taunted, “and I know you won’t be able to move, at least until I help you come out of it. Just wait until you see the game I have for you to play.”


	6. Chapter 6

Killian whipped into the circular drive of the the clapboard farmhouse Zelena had turned into her own, leaving the motor running as he jumped out of the car. He didn’t have to knock – Cora had arrived before them had the entry opened before he even got there.

“He’s got her,” Cora said, his voice tense with controlled panic.

“Who has her?” Killian asked, stepping inside, Will right behind him.

“The Stalker,” Cora elaborated, bounding up the stairs, knowing the two deputies would follow. When they came to the luxuriously appointed bedroom (much different than the rustic style of the main floor, they saw the items lying on the multi-colored throw.

“I didn’t touch anything,” she told them. “I didn’t pick anything up or move any of the things he left.”

Killian inched closer. There, in the middle of the bed, was a cut out headline screaming, “Stalker Strikes Again!” Just beside it was the locket Regina had given Zelena as a present for being the maid of honor in her wedding , the gold winking in the bright light. Lying on the other side was a pair of small green crocheted baby booties and a blanket knitted by Granny; the next item was a swatch of brown leather like one might use on a chair or sofa. Then, to Killian’s horror, his gaze caught the next object. Folded neatly beneath most of the items was Emma’s red leather jacket.

“Bloody hell!” he yelled, leaning towards the item to study it. “Will, call Anastasia. Call her right now and tell her to get them both out of there. I don’t care if she has to drag Emma out by her feet. They have to leave – now!”

Will didn’t hesitate; he yanked his phone from his belt and dialed quickly. The phone rang, and rang, and rang. On the twelfth ring, he turned hard, terrified, eyes to Killian.

“Oh my God,” Killian breathed, rushing back down the stairs and out of the house. He had to find them. He wasn’t sure how the hell he was going to do it, but he had to find them now.

~CS~ Emma stirred on the cold floor, the smell of leather, wood glue, and saw dust in her nose. Her heart was pumping madly, her mind groggy but mostly alert. Lifting her head, she found it aching, pounding as it usually did. Looking around, she found herself in a workshop, the murky lighting leaving several dark corners in the large room. Squinting her eyes through the dimness, she saw two figures, both obviously tied to chairs, about five feet apart from each other. Anastasia, Emma remembered with sudden clarity. He’d taken Anastasia when he’d taken her. But who was the other girl?

“Emma, Emma, are you awake?” Anastasia’s scared voice cut into her, pulling the last vestiges of fatigue from her brain.

“Yes, Anastasia, I’m here. Are you okay?” she asked, her throat dry.

“Yeah, I’m – oh – no, I’m alright. He has Zelena, too.”

Zelena, Emma thought. The name sounded familiar. Killian had mentioned the mayor a few times. The woman had a sister. Yes, that was it, clarity coming back.  The blonde woman nodded slowly, pulling her tresses out of her face as she stood. “Where is he?” she questioned.

“I’m right here, my dear,” the stalker said, moving from the shadows. He stopped dramatically in front of the willowy woman who Emma assumed to be Zelena

“Walsh. Walsh, please, don’t do this,” Zelena begged, then abruptly stopped. “That’s right, Ms. Mills, shut up. I don’t want to hear your whining anymore. You’re the one who started this whole thing, you know.”

Zelena spoke up louder now, her voice quite and reasonable. “Walsh , you have to let us go. They know we’re missing by now. They’ll never stop looking for us.” He laughed long and hard, the sound bouncing off the walls and echoing back. “I certainly hope they know you’re gone,” he answered with a maniacal grin. “I worked hard on this little plan.” Emma watched him carefully, knew his type immediately. She’d had to deal with a man exactly like him on her last case. The thought made chills run down her spine, a sudden attack of uncertainty hitting her. “You, my little psychic, are going to be my greatest take,” Walsh said, walking closer to her. “I’m so glad the epinephrine woke you up. I’d hate to have to wait to put my little game into action.”

“Game?” Emma asked, trying to sound collected. “Oh, yes, a game. You see, I know all about you, Emma Nolan. I know what happened a year ago in Boston.” She shook her head, fear beginning to trickle into her blood. “But, they don’t know, do they?” he asked, jerking his head to indicate the two women behind him.

“This is between me and you,” Emma said softly, “let them go.”

“Oh, but it does involve them, Ms. Nolan. You see, Zelena and I had a [torrid](http://www.torrid.com) little summer fling a few years back. I was so in love with her, so convinced that she loved me, too. Then, some guy who thought he was a stupid God asked her out. I might as well have been an ant on the sidewalk for all the attention she paid our relationship. She jumped at the chance to go out with the conniving little shit. And did her little friend Anastasia played her little Jiminy Cricket card – did she pretend to be the b*tch’s conscience and remind her that she was supposed to be dating me? No. Neither of them cared about a man like me. They were too busy grabbing their own brass ring. That’s when it came to me – no woman can be trusted.”

Emma listened to him, dissected his words as he spoke. Then she did something she was sworn never to do. She delved into his mind, silently and gently probing for a way out. “You pick them well,” she told him quietly. “They all deserved it. You see them, flirting, carrying on with men, then turning them down when they ask them out. They’re faithless, useless and heartless.”

Walsh stared at her, a smile of admiration on his face. “So you do understand,” he said. “I knew you would. I knew you would actually grasp why I have to do what I do.” “Of course,” she told him, trying to move closer, “you’re just protecting other men, teaching the females of Storybrooke a well-deserved lesson.”

He watched her for a moment, mesmerized by her voice, by her words. Then he suddenly jerked to attention, his eyes snapping with irritation. “Stop it,” he demanded, “you’re ruining everything. You’re not playing the game.” Emma ceased her steps, holding her breath in anticipation of what Walsh was about to do. His dark smile returned, his eyes turning hard. “See, you didn’t play the game right last time, either, did you? That’s why your mother almost died, that’s why your brother nearly drowned, that’s why you almost died yourself. If you’d have just listened, just done what the man had said, nobody would have been hurt.” He began walking around her, studying her as he made large circles around her body. “It still haunts you. I can see it in your eyes.”

His harsh laugh rang out, causing Emma to flinch. Just a little closer, she thought, just a little bit closer. He hadn’t tied her hands, was arrogant enough to believe that she wouldn’t be much trouble for him. Never underestimate your opponent. She hadn’t, but Walsh had. “What is your game?” she asked. “What is it I’m supposed to play?”

“It’s called Survivor,” he boomed out in a happy voice. “And no, we’re not voting anyone out of my little shop here. We’re deciding who’ll live.” Stopping in front of Emma, he whipped a gun from the back of his pants, aiming it first at a grimacing Anastasia then at a white faced Zelena. “Who shall it be, Emma? Hmmm? The pregnant woman who could redeem you, or the sister of your protector’s boss? Tick tock, Emma. There isn’t much time to make this decision.”

She didn’t focus on the weapon, she couldn’t allow herself to become scared again – it could cost them all their lives. Closer she thought, she needed to be closer. Inching up, she seized his disconcertingly even gaze with hers, praying for the words to use, hoping she could do it right this time. Holding the killer’s attention with her wide eyes, another part of her mind began to concentrate, pushing, opening, sending out the image to the one person she knew who might understand.

~CS~ Killian zoomed down the streets of the town, not sure of what he was searching for, not sure what he’d do when he found it.

“Killian, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking for,” Will said, echoing his partner’s thoughts.

“Neither am I,” he replied, “but we’ve got to find something. There has to be something out of place, there has to be a reason for the things he left behind.”

What if he didn’t find her? What if he was too late? What if she never knew how he felt about her? What if he never had a chance to spill his heart to his Emma? No, Jones, you have to stop this, he ordered himself. He was clouding his mind with personal fear, not taking that all-important step back to really study all the evidence they had. First Regina had been attacked, almost killed. Then Zelena had been taken. No, that wasn’t right. There couldn’t have been enough time. He must have kidnapped her before he went after the other woman. And then he’d taken Anastasia and Emma, using Regina’s attack and Zelena’s disappearance as distraction. But why? No, now was not the time for explanations. Thinking back, he went over the events that had taken place again, this time his mind abruptly halting when he remembered the clues on Zelena’s bed. Each item had something to do with the women taken. The locket was Zelena’s the baby booties were for Anastasia and the jacket was Emma’s. That left the newspaper headline, which was obvious, and the swatch of leather. Just as his mind began to grasp where the Stalker taken them, an image, sharp and jabbing, appeared in front of him. It was a split second, just long enough for him to know he’d been right. That a girl, Emma!

“Wizard of Oak,” Killian announced, making a right and heading to other end of town. “Come on, Emma, tell me. Who will win and who will lose?” His voice was terrifyingly cheerful, as if he were some insane game show host egging a contestant on. Emma moved ever closer, returning his smile. The image of Killian, of his lopsided grin, of his voice floated through to her. She had to see him again, she had to tell him what her heart had known from the beginning, but what her head was just now  understanding. The idea had hit her when they were in the park, just a few hours ago. The feeling of completeness, of joy, of love. Yes, she loved Killian Black. She had to have the chance to tell him.

“You are a smart one, aren’t you, Walsh?” she purred. “They just never knew, never appreciate who you really are.” She shook her head slightly, pretending to be the woman this killer so desperately needed to believe in him. “Those other girls, they’re not good enough.”

Walsh tilted his head, licking his lips as she eased toward him. “I’m so glad you know me,” he said, the gun wavering. “So many others don’t.”

“Of course I do,” Emma said, taking the final, careful step to bring her within arms reach. “You are the Storybrooke Stalker. You are unconquerable.” With that, she raised her leg swiftly, kicking his knee with strength and precision. He went down with a small cry, the gun jarring from his palm, his mouth agape. She knew she couldn’t stop, couldn’t allow him to live and still be safe in this place. Walsh was a clear and present danger. Quickly, she raised her palm, bent fingers up, and thrust the hard heel of her hand into his nose, thrusting up as she did. The sickening sound of crunching bone sounded against the sudden quiet, the surprised look on the killers face a death mask as he fell. In all his research, he hadn’t discovered she was a black belt – or hadn’t cared.

“Awwwwwwww…….!” The agonized cry of Anastasia deafened her, the noise ricocheting through the huge space.

“Anastasia, oh, God,” Zelena said, trying to scoot her chair over to her friend’s side. Emma raced over to the captive girls, moving rapidly to untie them.

“How long have you been having contractions?” Emma asked, the exhaustion and pain pushed to the back of her mind in light of the newest crisis.

“Ohhhhhh,” she howled. “I don’t,” she panted, “know. Maybe,” another loud moan, “since this morning. I thought,” heavy breathing, “OH DEAR LORD!!!!!! OOOOOUUUUUUCCCCCCCHHHHHH!!!” more panting, “I thought it was normal, and then,” a deep, guttural groan rumbled out of her, “then Walsh had us here and I was – he, he, he, ha, ha, ha – I was afraid to make any noise aaaahhhhhhh!”

Emma finished taking the bindings off of Zelena, then turned back to Anastasia. Pulling off her purple sweater, she lay it down on the hard wood, requesting with a hand signal that Zelena do the same. Both women, now in camisoles, helped Anastasia up, taking off the cardigan she’d had wrapped around her. While she was still standing, Emma jerked her maternity jeans and underwear off. Thank God the woman’s shoeless, Emma thought. I don’t think I can grapple with laces right now. With Zelena’s help, they eased her back onto the floor, the donated clothing under thighs. “Okay, lift your legs and let them just fall and relax,” Emma said, positioning herself at her new friends knees. And, just as she’d suspected, there was the top of Baby Scarlett’s head.

“Well, Anastasia,” she said, gazing up at the panting woman, “you’re about to have this baby. Stay with me now. It should only take a few pushes.” Zelena immediately propped the other woman up, tucking one knee toward Anastasia’s swollen stomach as she coached. “With the next contraction,” Emma said, “push down. We’ll count to ten. Ready?” Emma saw the Anastasia’s stomach harden, knew she was about to push.

“Push, Anastasia! Push now!” She encouraged loudly. “One, two, three…” Zelena and Emma counted together, Anastasia pushed, her chin on her chest, her face turning beet red. “…ten. Good, Anastasia. Good. The head is almost out. Come on, next contraction let’s do it again,” the dark haired woman said. She could only thank God that she’d help deliver two babies during her career.

“Here we go, Ana,” she heard Zelena say. “One, two, three, four…” Again the women counted. “…nine, ten. Okay, even better, Anastasia, even better. We’re almost there. One more push like that and your baby will be here.”

“I can’t,” came the tired voice, “I’ve changed my mind. I can’t do this.” “Come on, Ana. Just think of the beautiful baby you’ll have. You’ll get to find out if it’s a boy or a girl,” Zelena said, her voice heartening.

“No, uh-uh, no way. I’m going home. This kid can stay in until I get to the hospital and get an epidural. I can’t do this,” the pregnant woman’s tone was sounding desperate now, filled with uncertainty.

“Anastasia Scarlett,” Emma said, her voice hard and commanding, “you can do this and you will do this. You just faced down a serial killer. You also make the best damn lasagna in twelve counties. You will not wimp out, do you hear me?”

Anastasia stared at her a moment, tears in her eyes, then she nodded, “the lasagna recipe and cooking was all Regina though.”

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you,” Zelena soothed, rolling her eyes at the same time.

“Now, you’re starting to contract, I can see it. Let’s go, last time. One, two, three, four,” the chant began. Then the head popped out, the thick black hair matted down. “Okay, Anastasia, a small push, just a small one. I’ll turn the baby and ease out the shoulders. Ready?” Anastasia, her eyes shut, her face chiselled with concentration, nodded and complied. Then she was there, little girl Scarlett, small and slippery in her hands. Smiling broadly, Emma rubbed the baby’s back roughly, slapped her butt carefully. The newborn cries ripped out of her lungs.

“Oh, Anastasia!” Zelena cried, fiercely hugging her friend.

“Anastasia,” Emma said softly, “it’s a girl.” Tears streamed down the other woman’s sweaty face as she held her arms out. Emma bundled the infant in Anastasia’s cardigan, handed the baby to the new mother, then turned to Zelena. “You’re the only one with shoes,” she said, “please tell me they’re lace up.”

“Huh, oh, yeah, they are. He grabbed me while I was on my afternoon jog,” Zelena responded, tearing her eyes away from the new baby and pulling the white lace out of her running shoe. Emma tied the chord off, grabbed her already ruined sweater from under Anastasia to catch the afterbirth, and was delivering the placenta when the calvary finally arrived. ~CS~ Killian lay in the bed of the small cubicle of the emergency room, his arms wrapped securely around the woman in the hideous green gown. Regina was in the neighboring area, Robin holding her just as tightly, Granny and Ruby hovering just outside the curtain and popping into both areas to check periodically. Anastasia and Will were upstairs, Zelena visiting them in a wheelchair, her mother gloating over the new baby her daughter’s role in the delivery. Emily Lena Scarlett. A combination of Emma’s name and Zelena’s.

Killian smiled, pulling his love closer to him. “I was so afraid,” he admitted, feeling as the shaking aftershocks of the epinephrine racked her body.

“You weren’t the only one,” she said, smiling through her exhausted and drugged haze.

“I was scared that I would lose you, that I’d never get a chance to hold you again,” he told her, gently stroking her long hair.

“Oh, no, Killian, letting you out of this that easily,” she mumbled, curling deeper into his chest. Killian chuckled and dropped a quick kiss on her hair. “You never cease to amaze me, Emma Nolan,” he said. “First you face down a serial killer, then you kill him with a palm strike to the nose, splintering the cartilage into his brain. And, after all of that, you manage to deliver a baby. Man, am I lucky man.” Emma was silent a moment, the images from the last few days flashing through her mind. She had never had to kill anyone before, had hated to feeling of it. But it had been a necessary evil, one that she knew she’d live with, just as she lived with the vivid visions she’d seen.

“Killian,” she said quietly, “I need to tell you what happened.”

“You stopped the killer, Emma. That’s all that matters,” he told her softly. “No, not about that,” she replied, taking a deep breath.

“It’s about the scar, about how I got it.” She felt him go perfectly still waiting for her to begin. “A man my father had arrested was let out of prison on a technicality. In retaliation he kidnapped my mother and my little brother. I linked with them several times. There was a strange feeling about the whole thing, though, something that just wasn’t right. I tried to tell the detective on the case, but he was a glory hound, so he ignored me. My father was torn between this detective he’d always known and his daughter. My dad trusted me, but his reputation was suffering for it. I think that’s why he made the decision to retire. Anyway, one night, I had a vision, and that time I had an actual glimpse of where they were. I left a message for my dad, then went out on my own. I had to link to her to find them, so I was still with her when the hired hit man started torturing her. He didn’t know I was there at first. Then, after a few hours, I was finally able to break away from her and go all the way inside the warehouse. When the killer saw me, he knew who I was, thanks to the media attention. He brought out his gun, dared me to save her, then shot. I jumped in front of my mom. I lived and so did my mom and brother. I woke up in the hospital and, much to my relief, couldn’t see anything anymore like the visions. There were just muffled voices, like quiet background static, that I tuned out. That changed with Walsh, though.”

Killian didn’t say anything, just lay with his heart aching for the incredibly resilient woman beside him.

“Killian,” she asked carefully, “how did you find us?”

Readjusting, he pulled her closer before he answered. “Well, Walsh left a clue at Zelena’s.”

“Oh,” Emma said, disappointed.

“Then there was this picture that flashed in my brain…” Emma slapped him playfully on his stomach. “I was wondering if I’d reached you,” she thought out loud.

“Oh, you reached me alright, my love. In more ways than one.” His voice, so tender and sweet, brought Emma shakily up on her elbow.

“What are you talking about, Killian?” she asked, holding her breath. Could it be? Was it possible that what she wanted, needed to confess to him was also in his heart?

“What I mean, love,” he answered, reaching up to cup her pale face, “is that I love you. As simple and as complicated as that. I love you.” Killian had made his confession with apprehension but determination. He had learned over these past few hours how quickly life and love could be taken from you. And after her admission, after she had told him the horrific story, he knew he had to tell her.

“Oh, Killian,” she breathed, her beautiful green eyes pooling with tears. “I love you, too. As simple and as complicated as that.” He felt his heart and soul melt into each other, finally shifting into place. He pulled her down to him, his lips gently rubbing against hers, teasing, tasting. She moaned against his mouth, jumped and groaned when he nipped her bottom lip. Killian grasped the back of her head then, intensifying the kiss, thrusting his tongue against hers. She melded herself to him, her lush body crushed against his. Killian let his free hand roam down her back, finally reaching her nicely rounded rump, and began kneading the soft flesh.

“Umhum!” The loud sound of someone clearing their throat brought them both back to reality, a becoming blush racing across Emma’s face. Killian turned, saw Dr. Whale standing just inside the curtain, an ill hidden smile on his lips. “Uh, I hate to interrupt, but we need to examine Ms. Nolan. We need to make sure that epinephrine dose was small enough to not cause damage.”

Killian nodded, swinging his gaze back to Emma. “I’ll wait for you outside,” he said, “and when you’re released we’ll go pack your things. You’re coming home with me.”

Emma gave him a quizzical look, momentarily confused. “But the killer’s dead. I’m not in danger anymore; you don’t have to guard me.”

Killian stood, staring into her eyes. “Oh, this has nothing to do with police work and everything to do with us.” He left her with a smile on her face and an “’Atta boy,” from Dr. Whale. Walking the few feet from Emma’s area to where Regina was already begging to be released. Killian moved to give Robin one of those quick hugs with a pat on the shoulder.

“As soon as you’re able,” he told them, “I’d like you to come and meet the girl I’m going to marry. And give me some advice about meeting her parents. ”


End file.
